


Fate's Reprieve

by swoopswoop



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, only slight mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 93,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swoopswoop/pseuds/swoopswoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dragonborn has gone by many names in her time. Now she is the dragoborn first and everything else after although when her fight against Alduin brings her back to her old city Windhelm, the names she used to hold and her former occupation come back to haunt her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun cast dancing lights upon the old stone walls of the city, Anwen thought as she stared upon it from the stables, tossing a few coins to Ulundil to look after her horse. He didn't seem to mind that she had shown no signs of moving off in the last ten minutes, instead simply standing still and staring at the gates from the bottom of the bridge. The gates were imposing, the walls told of safety and protection that she could not feel here. Not now. Not after everything that had happened.

Once, Anwen had called this place her home. The orange hues made the snow around the city glow in a way that never truly stopped, even in summer, leaving it to glisten and beckon to those cold and weary from the road. If she leant over the side of the bridge she would see the docks, here the movement of men and women packing away and heading home after a long, hard day’s work.

The irony that she set about her job at night once more was not wasted upon her.

It was later than she anticipated arriving but not as late as she had hoped. A few more hours and the city would sleep, enough excuse for her to rest and do the same but the shops were still open yet. There was no real excuse to delay her duty. The day was still with her even if not for long.

Anwen felt the eyes upon her, felt the gaze of a few guards upon her. What was she doing? They must think. No one came to Windhelm for nothing and certainly no one stayed in the freezing cold when the city beckoned only a short walk away.

With a heavy heart she stepped forwards, quickly lifting her hood over her head as the cool ice wind hit her. The walk along the bridge took longer this time than any before it but she did not hurry her step. Fear still bit her and it made her curse for being so week. _I'm the dragonborn. What have I to hear in slander?_ She reminded herself. Anwen had never let words affect her, at least outwardly. She had grown her skin thick to the daggers of men and women's tongues but enough still slipped by.

For all her ministrations, it was not Anwen's first return to the city. Business had brought her here twice since the war began but she had made note to slink in the shadows, staying well away from the Palace and, as much as she could, Valunstrad. It was the dread of what she need do now that made her hesitate.

Anwen _had_ to go to the Palace of the Kings and she _had_ to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak.

Standing in front of the gate, the sun even closer to setting she saw the path before her. The one that would take her directly to the Palace and as she took one step closer to it, her resolve fled and she balked left.

Hooded and moving silently, her presence not enough to make people turn their heads. It was the benefit of her somewhat battered cloak that she wore over her robes. Armour was useful and had at times saved her life in Dwemer ruins or against the draugr but in a city she was safe and that meant discretion. There was still armour in her ridiculously heavy pack but she ignored the pain, threading healing spells through her spine every few hours to ease the strain.

When she reached the door and pushed opened, she heard a familiar voice.

“We're about to close up for the day,” Quintus called without looking up from where he was wiping away at the desk.

“I'll only be a few moments,” she called back letting a little lilt into her voice that drew his interest enough to look at her. Then a smile grew, wide as could be and he quickly left his post, arms raised.

“Anwen,” he caught her forearms and she grasped his back, returning his smile. “It's good to see you. What can I do for you?”

Thinking fast on her feet she glanced around the shop. “I need a few hard to come by resources. I could scour the mountains for them myself and then I remembered by dear friend Quintus.”

He chuckled and let her go moving to around the desk. “If I have it in stock, you can have it.”

It was all the opening she needed. Honestly, she did need certain items for potions which she was running low on and mana boosts, even a few poisons but it would have waited. Every item she made him search for was draining time and she knew it.

Anwen felt a bit bad when he pulled out the last of his canis root supply and passed it over. There was a heaviness in his step and although he would be happy to continue hunting down random ingredients, she didn't have the heart to make him do more work for her own selfish endeavours.

“Anything else?” there was still a smile on his face and in his eyes. A good friend, he truly was.

“That should be all,” she told him counting out septims before sighing and just handing over a hundred. Neither of them could be bothered to work out the true cost, and that would more than cover it.

“Anwen -” he shook his head, ready to push it back but she silenced him with a single glance.

“I won't see my friend’s generosity send them destitute. Please.”

“Come back whenever you need anything,” he told her walking her out to the door after she'd finished storing the items in her pack. She heaved it onto her shoulders and it wasn't that much more weight, but divines help her if it didn't feel that way.

The door to the White Phial locked behind her and she could not blame him. Her dallying had easily cost her another hour and with the sky as dark as it was, street deserted from its daily fare of people, her chest rest easier knowing she could delay this reunion another few hours.

Or so she thought.

Anwen knew the paths of the street well, taking the quickest route to the Candlehearth inn with her back so burdened. She regretted not returning to Riften after clearing out that tower and selling off the gear she had acquired. In her mind she knew why she hadn't. The second she stepped back into Riften, Brynjolf would be hounding her door about reconsidering her withdrawal from the Guild.

That would have added another few days’ delay and then she might have lost her resolve. Ulfric would not reply to a missive or courier though. If Anwen wished these peace talks to go ahead than she needed to speak to Ulfric herself. _Damn everything._

It was as she walked past the Blacksmith's quarters that she heard a command, freezing momentarily, “Halt!”

The voice was one she knew all too well. _Damn it all._

When nothing followed, she took a few steps more, hoping it had been another he was addressing only to have thoughts dashed as he called, _“Arla?”_

“You are mistaken,” she called back readily purposefully walking away this time but a heavy step followed her, a hand wrapping around her wrist. She froze without meaning to, shocked by the unexpected action.

“I do not think so. I'd recognise the sway of those hips and that arse anywhere. Arla, it is you isn't it?”

The words made her groan internally and roll her eyes as she finally turned to the blond-haired soldier life determined that she was unable of escaping. “I do not go by that name any longer, Ralof, and unless you want to find yourself with my blade in your stomach, I suggest you let go of me.”

There was a momentary hesitance and then he balked at her silent movement, the blade hovering over his stomach and let her go with a short, not quite true laugh. “You've changed.”

It was true. Anwen had made many changes since her life before. Once she had been solely the supple curves and soft skin where now there were muscles and scars. Her hair was still the same auburn brown that it used to be but now she wore it up, high upon her head in a braided bun. Before she had always worn it down, as preferred by those around her, but after a few fights it became clear it needed better control. She had trialled a few hairstyles before she settled upon this one. She had done subtle changes to her make-up, no longer having rouge on her lips and cheeks to make her appear always flushed. Now when her cheeks were that colour it was due to a long fight. Around her eyes there was also a swirl of deep-maroon war paint.

When she moved, she no longer made effort to sway her hips and jut out her breasts and she now she knew how to use the blade at her hip unlike the small dagger she had carried against her thigh when walking back late in the evening.

But more than that there was a fire in her eyes, a flicker that warned people away rather than encouraging them closer to her. Once she was freed, she quickly sheathed her weapon and calmed herself at his words.

“What happened to you?” Ralof asked and when she met his sky blue eyes she saw the concern buried within. It made her guilty for her greeting of him. For everything that had happened Ralof had always been good to her, a friend even, calming her on the wagon to Helgen. “It's been months – I thought something must have happened after I left you in Riverwood – divines help me, we thought you dead!”

She smiled ruefully and let guilt fill her eyes as she cast them down. Something had happened. Anwen had ceased to be Arla the moment the dragon had attacked. Now she was dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun – and a few others beside – but she had a destiny to fulfil and returning home had slipped from her mind. Slowly the appeal of the city had turned to dread and fear. Every step towards her new destiny was a step away from her old life.

Whilst she did not, nor would she ever regret, what Arla had done to survive she would not go back to that life now. If Ralof sensed some of that on her face, he didn't reply, shaking his head slowly.

“Perhaps we should start again then,” he offered his hand and she considered it dubiously before threading hers into it. “What should I call you, old friend?”

It made her nose twitch, smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Anwen.”

“And I am Ralof. Dashing soldier of the Stormcloak rebellion. What brings you to Windhelm?”

“Business,” she stated and scrunched her nose up not wanting her meaning to be misunderstood. “And not _that_ sort of business.”

He laughed and dropped her hand. “I can tell. Well, can your 'business' wait until morning? I know of someone who will be _very_ glad to see you.”

Anwen knew who Ralof meant and did not admit that that was exactly the business she had come to Windhelm for. She also doubted that Ulfric would be glad to see her or anything of the sort. Ulfric was many things; a brilliant leader, a masterful tactician, a wily politician but also a cold man. Anwen had seen more tenderness from him than most but she was under no illusion that he would greet her with open arms. 

With a slight nod, hesitation deep within it, she took his arm and was guided past the inn and straight to the doors of the Palace of the Kings.

_Divines,_ she prayed as the large doors opened before them. _Give me the strength to see him again._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Dragonborn, Harbinger of the Companions, Thane of too many guilds to name, Arch-Mage to the College of Winterhold, had not picked a side in this civil war. It served her best interests to be able to move freely without fear of being imprisoned. Her duty took her all over Skyrim, her feet knew that best of all, and if she were restricted to the few holds controlled by either the Stormcloaks or the Imperials her job would have not gotten as far as it had.

Arla, Anwen's former name tied to her former life, had. Whilst she had been no ' _official_ ' member of the Stormcloak rebellion she had her uses all the same. She had been sent on her little missions, gathering information with her unique skills, using her Breton blood as a disguise as she learned secrets to pass on. It was another reminder of a time she preferred not to dwell on as she gazed upon the empty throne.

Ralof didn't hesitate in taking her up the back staircase, along a route that she knew like the back of her hand. Her heart pounded as she was continuously flooded with the many memories these walls held for her.

When Ralof glanced at her, he didn't see that or anything other than a determined mask. A mask she used often to appear strong when she felt her weakest. She tugged her cloak unconsciously tighter.

Hand raised, Ralof planted three firm knocks upon the Jarl's door.

“Whatever it is can wait until the damned morning!” the voice shouted back and her stomach flipped. It was the same as before but weighed heavier now, the war taking its toll on all, especially the Jarl.

“Trust me, my Jarl, you will wish to see this now,” Ralof replied with confidence. Why was she so important? As of yet they knew nothing of her purpose save for her apparently unexpected reappearance.

“Fine,” a grumbled response came and she could hear how tired he was in his tone. Had he not been sleeping well? She wondered idly. “Come in.”

Opening the door, Ralof gestured for her to enter but hesitated, standing at the door. She glanced at him with annoyance, getting quickly tired of this man leaving her but with a smile he closed the door shut and she turned to Ulfric.

Ulfric who looked the same as she remembered. Ulfric who hadn't even glanced away from the paperwork he was sifting through, candle burning low. Her mind betrayed her returning her to her last moments in this room and she pushed those thoughts aside. Things had changed, she had changed, and Ulfric needed to know that too.

“Well?” he called and she wanted to roll her eyes at the impatience but did not, instead stepping into the light and removing her hood, she greeted him.

“Hello Ulfric,” she forwent the titles, a familiarity that might work against her but in the face of him now she couldn't help it. “It has been a long time.”

His hands stilled, his body tensed and she worried what was coming when he dropped his papers, skittering his chair backwards as he stood and turned to her. “Arla?”

Of all the things that she had expected, the expression that crossed his face was not it. It shuttered off after a second, becoming guarded as he took in her new appearance, but she had seen it and the strength of it stilled her heart and caught her throat. Without a hint of a lie he had missed her.

Ignoring her usual annoyance at her old name, she smiled. “Tis good to see you again, my Jarl.”

He let out a heavy breath and gestured for her to take a seat whilst he stacked some of the papers and righted his own chair. As she watched him, she bit her lip but knew she needed to say it now. “Though I do not go by that name any longer.”

Eyes flickered to her. Weariness. Anger. Confusion.

He sat and uncorked a bottle of alto wine, pouring two goblets and passing one along. She accepted and wrapped her hands around the familiar metal. Glad for something to keep them fidgeting. She hated fidgeting almost more than she hated the feelings she had long since trodden on.

 _It was not my place to fall for him_ , she reminded herself bitterly.

“What shall I then - “

“Anwen,” she spoke quickly, cutting him off. “If you have questions, I will answer them to the best I am able.”

He leant back at that, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps 'if' was not the right word. She took a long drink from the cup and felt warmed by the familiarity of the taste. Combined with the feel of the room, the warmth and having Ulfric before her once more it was almost too much. Almost.

“What happened to you?” his voice was steady and slightly judgemental.

“Ralof left me in Riverwood,” she told him what he probably already knew. The question had two possible answers but she did not want to dwell on what happened to her before Helgen. She had moved on from that as surely as she had from Arla although that transition had been more pained. “I had to make my own way back.”

Eyes narrowed. “That was nearly a year ago.”

“Other things came up.”

The desire to ask just what she meant was there but covered by distrust that hurt and a need to seem in control. After all that she had done for them he was to distrust her now?

“What brings you back, now, after so long?”

It was a question she had spent the last few days preparing for and even then she had never settled on what she would say. Maybe she had never expected to get this far, to reach this part. “I am here because fate dictates that I must. I need your help, Ulfric.”

The man tensed, weary and considering her with a new glance, a colder one. “You come back here,” his voice was dangerously low, “After all this time to demand help? I am in the middle of a _war._ ” He stood, eyes running over her shrewdly. “What mess have you gotten yourself into? Angered the wrong family? Forgot your childsbane _?”_

The words cut her like ice and she stood too, a fury within her. “Is that all you think of me? If it were something so simple, Ulfric I would take care if it myself as I _always_ have. Coming here was a mistake.”

Her mind screamed at her as she turned to the door, reminding her why she was here, the importance of it. In the moment she didn't care. She was halfway down the corridor when the booming voice called after her.

“Do not walk away from me!”

Spinning on her heal, her eyes glistened, the power of her blood coursing through her. “You don't own me, Jarl.”

It was not how she had intended to leave things but she could not talk to him in a mood like that. It was foolish of her to ever think that she could go to him with this. It would almost be easier to side with the bloody Imperials and end this war so she could do her job but she couldn't. Wouldn't. For all the anger she currently felt it was because there were still feelings. At least on her part.

No one tried to stop her as she all but ran from the Palace of the Kings. Her blood fuelling her own, she all but raced out of the city but stopped herself. _Cursed man_ , she thought pounding on the nearest wall before taking a steadying breath.

 _I have to do this,_ she told herself. _But maybe not today._

After calming herself enough, the cold bite of the air cooling her flamed skin, she pushed off and headed to the inn. She would mull this over, she decided, try and think of a way to tell him the truth about why she had come back and actually succeed next time.

\-----

Anwen woke with a groan, throwing her legs over the bed and rubbing the scar along her back. The cheap bed and worn sheets wouldn't have bothered her had she not gotten used to her homes scattered as they were across Skyrim. There was no warm fire to greet her here, no cooked breakfast or secure chests for her goods.

The room would be hers until the end of the week though, so she had room to spread out a little. It was her own personal nudge, a time frame for her to complete her task. Anwen knew that if she did not deliver her message and get the help she required by the end of then, she would not be doing it and she'd need search for alternate means whatever they may be.

After washing and changing back into her robes she set about reapplying her war paint as she decided what to do this day. There was no way she could return to the palace yet and she was tempted to get out of the city just to avoid the chance of running into a familiar face for there were too many within Windhelm's walls.

The paint wasn't quite enough to hide her identity, not to a keen eye. _There are worse fates_ , she reminded herself for the twentieth time since her arrival. Elda hadn't noticed her, or at least if she had recognised her, she hadn't said much in the way of it.

Arla, as she was then, had always tried to avoid conducting her business in the inn's anyway, preferring the houses of those she was dealing with and on occasion her small shack in the Gray Quarter. It was with a sad stab she thought of her old home. Did it still lie abandoned? Or had someone claimed it when she left Windhelm that final time?

Laying out her belongings on the bed, she hid what had value that she did not wish carry beneath floorboards she prized open and packed the weapons and armour she intended to sell, straightening as she readied to leave.

It was not a long walk to the marketplace, her first stop of the day and she had only just come into view before she saw golden eyes lock onto her with a smile.

“Anwen,” she greeted drawing her over as if that wasn't already her destination. “If I knew you were coming I'd have stocked up on gold.”

Her nose twitched and she smiled upon the woman. “I am sure we'll make do.”

“That I am,” Niranye began to study all the items that Anwen passed her, slowly naming her prices for each. Anwen agreed to most even if she did think some were worth far more. It was easier to be rid of them than to haul them to another hold on the off chance of a better price. Anwen did not really struggle for money either now, not like she had.

None of these goods were stolen, at least, considering you cannot steal from dead men. It still gave her comfort to talk to the guild fence. Whether or not she had stepped back from that life she still had friends within it.

Niranye laughed contentedly when Anwen stopped drawing weapons from her bag. “Thank the gods, I was almost out of gold!”

“I would have waited for you to get some more,” Anwen teased shoulder the thankfully much lighter pack with a contented sigh. “How have you been anyway?”

“Better than you,” she stated plainly, leaning her weight onto her elbows on the stall. “Brynjolf told me what happened at the Throat of the World.”

“Did he now,” Anwen rolled her eyes. That was the last time she carried her bleeding arse down to the cistern. “And when was he up here?”

“Oh he wasn't,” Niranye gave her a knowing look. “You need not worry your socks, he won't chase what doesn't want to be caught.”

“Oh Talos help me,” she put her hands over her face. She didn't need a reminder of that and the Altmer laughed, a light jovial sound before patting her reassuringly upon the soldier.

“You didn't leave because of that did you?”

She knew the hidden question: had she left the guild behind because of Brynjolf's unreturned affection? “No,” she answered truthfully. It had been a means to the end, to get her back on her feet when it seems all the world wished to do was knock her down. The guild was in a position to grow and she was eager to let them but she would not return to that life. It had never sat well with her. Spying was one thing, stealing into people’s homes was too far, regardless if she was good at it or not. “I have my reasons.”

“As I am sure you do for joining me in the frigid unrelenting cold of the city,” Nirayne gestured to the snowy expanse. Anwen wondered how the woman managed with her arms uncovered as they were. Perhaps she had just been away from the cold too long. “How long are you staying?”

“Until the end of the week,” she told content to have it said out loud, another reason she could not go back on her silent promise. It was not her life that rested in the balance.

“Well then, I will see you around. Join me in the Candlehearth in for a drink before you depart?”

“I will,” she smiled and turned. It was by no means the end of Anwen's day. After that she spoke a bit to Aval before heading into Sadri's used wears to sell of the books she'd read and the potions she had no need of. Anwen was always dubious in selling potions, never sure if she wouldn't end up needing them after all but her bag was already too full and she had stacks of the things in every home.

The gold of her purse was much heavier as she headed back to the inn, content to read the book she had bought from Revyn that evening, when she saw Ralof hanging around the Stone Quarter. He was looking for someone judging by his stance and it did not take her much to realise who.

She bit her lip when deciding what to do, eventually pulling on an invisibility spell. It was childish as she slipped past him, holding her breath but she had little sealed herself to that fate yet. No one saw her as she entered her room for the evening and locked the door behind her.

Relief flooded her and she settled in. Inns were not her favourite place to stay but in a place like Windhelm they certainly held their charm in warmth. With no other tasks for the day, she freed herself from her robes and settled into a loose shirt, cuddling up in her bed with her book and a candle.

Hours passed and she lost herself in the story of the Wolf-Queen. Anwen had always loved to read, even as a little girl and as she snuggled in it was no different. For a few hours she was not the dragonborn, she had no responsibilities and she could just be let alone.

\----


	3. Chapter 3

The following day did not go as smoothly as the first, at least when she finally left the inn. It took a while for Anwen to pull herself away from the warm den she had created for herself. In the small rented room where no one disturbed her and she was allowed to simply do nothing she had forgotten the world and her duty. She had allowed herself to stay up late reading until her eyes could not take the strain any longer but her mind was still enthralled thinking of what else might happen next. She woke up late, sun already high in the sky and picked the novel back up.

Really, it was silly to take the time. There were people relying on her but she had needed the break and damn it all if she didn’t feel better for the brief few hours she had stolen for herself. It didn’t last though. First hunger struck, pulling her out of bed and the movement soon had her preparing for day. With the freshness of warm robes and having re-applied all her war paint she finally, begrudgingly, left her room. Anwen still hadn’t decided how she was going to tackle the Ulfric issue but the meeting was a little over a week away. She had time to plan.

Halfway down the stairs, Susanna ran into her and stopped with purpose. Anwen hesitated before stilling. It wasn’t that she was opposed to messages more that she wasn’t quite in that frame of mind yet, not having cordoned herself off for battle.

“Everything alright?”

“You're Anwen right?” Susanna asked and it immediately put her on edge as she nodded. “A soldier left this message for you last night. Couldn't remember which room you were in and Elda was asleep so I thought I'd pass it along when I saw you.”

“Thank you,” she bowed her head and fished out a septim for the woman who took it and moved on without question. Anwen bit her lip as she turned it over and saw the seal. _Damn it all,_ she thought wincing at the familiar lettering. How many nights had she watched him scrawl endless missives either before or after her visits? It was writing she’d always recognise.

_Anwen,_

_Come to the Palace._

_Ulfric_

It was so plain and gave nothing away. She rolled her eyes. No apology for the words he had spoken, the accusations that he had laid at her feet. No offer to help her just a demand that she attend. It made her blood boil as she recalled his words, the tone in which he had asked, “ _Forgot your childsbane?_ ”

She should have run him through for that comment alone but it wouldn't do her any good. _And it wasn't entirely an unfair comment,_ that voice in the back of her mind told her. The one that reminded her of her former life and she scrunched the paper as she pushed the voice away. She wasn't Arla anymore and she _certainly_ didn't act like her.

If she were to see him, it would be on her terms, not at the behest of an unapologetic summons. Anwen decided on a plan to go around the farms and see if work was required or just how the people were fairing. It was a good plan, Anwen thought, it would give her time to think, time to prepare mentally and then just as she breached the city gates, she heard the words that she had come to hate more than any. The words that made her simultaneously groan and roll her eyes as he shoulders set.

“Dragon's been spotted.”  

It was the guard that were speaking, the first glancing nervously to the sky and then to the second. Anwen understood their fear. They were the protectors of the people it was their lot in life to charge a dragon sword raised without question. And their job to die doing that. These men and women were good fighters, brave too, but they were not trained to fight dragons.

 _Neither were you,_ she reminded herself but pushed that aside, focusing instead on what they were saying.

“Where?”

“Anga's Mill.”

“Divines, so close?”

Whatever was left of the conversation fell on deaf ears as Anwen took steps in that direction. It was close enough for her to leave her horse and she was glad of it. The damn thing had gotten a sense of honour when she wasn't looking, charging the last dragon they came across and giving Anwen the fright of her life when the dragon flicked it into the air.

Hurrying past the stables, she gave Onyx a glance and she swore her horse was glowering at her. She didn't mind. There were few enough things that she cared so deeply about, possessions she couldn't bear the thought of losing, and her horse was one of them. They'd been together through thick and thin, before she was dragonborn or anything of importance. Horses were decidedly less well prepared to deal with dragons than guards were.

With a spring in her step she followed the river out and carried on towards the mill, keeping an eye to the sky whenever she felt a breeze. Anwen moved quickly, eagerly, and was half-way there when she heard the tell-tale roar of her foe.

“Come get me you great beast!” She goaded, drawing her bow and waiting, just waiting for it to steady in its flight. When it made as if to turn off, closer to Windhelm, she quickly fired an arrow at it, smiling at the rumble as it took her bait and turned its attention to women flailing below.

It began to swoop down, great silver-white wings flapping to hold its position as it considered the small Breton garbed only in robes. It was all the opening that Anwen needed, shouting her most recently learnt shout, “ _Joor Zah Frul_!” she called the blue of light shooting from her.

 

The dragon called out in anguish as it landed, close enough to her to make the ground shake. She quickly stepped around, careful not to stand in one place for too long as she poured arrow after arrow into the beast.

Whenever it made to fly, she quickly repeated her shout, keeping it where she needed it. She missed having a companion when the dragon’s ire had nowhere to focus beside her, forcing her to run and jump, hiding behind boulders until the worst of the icy blasts had passed.

Anwen was wearing the beast down and she could feel the dragon weakening and that is when she went to strike. Sheathing her bow, she withdrew her sword and conjured fire with her free hand as she ran towards it.

An arrow flying past her almost stopped her and she cursed. _Why now?_ She thought not glancing at whoever had finally joined the fight. It did not stop her.

Lithe on her feet she sliced it's side, foot coming down hard on the ground and she scrambled up upon it's back, steadying herself against the thrashing as she made her way to the head. With the strength she had she drove the blade into the space just behind it's skull as it reared.

She knew what was coming and leapt before her was thrown, rolling as she landed on the ground with a grunt. With the last of its strength gone, with one final roar, the beast lay still and Anwen approached. There was no forestalling what was coming next and she quickly began plucking her arrows from the beast as it's skin began to glow and burn away.

Anwen stilled as the power began to enter her, as she absorbed the soul, closing her eyes as it ran through her blood, lighting her body. She gasped and fell forwards, catching herself on the bones left behind.

“Divines!” someone called behind her but she didn't move yet, adjusting to the rush of power. “That's _the_ _dragonborn.”_

When she was ready, she turned wanting to just get back to Windhelm but at the sight before her, she froze.

_Shit._

Ralof's eyes were wide – wider than she'd ever seen them. He came up to her whilst the men he'd brought with him watched in awe. When they were close enough that his voice would only travel to her ears, he hissed, “ _You're the dragonborn_?”

“Guilty as charged,” she tried for levity but he was too struck. “Ralof, please can you just let me go? Believe it or not that was tiring and I need to rest.”

It wasn't entirely true. Whilst the fight itself had drained her, absorbing the soul of the dragon compensated well for that. She just really didn't want to have this conversation now, in the middle of a road.

He studied her for a long moment and she hoped that whatever friendship lay between them would be enough. “Aye,” he said taking a step to the side as relief flooded it, only to cancel it all with his next words. “But I'll have to tell the Jarl.”

At first she wanted to demand that he didn't so that she might be the one to tell him but then she thought of their last conversation, the bitterness she still felt. _“Fine.”_

The guards left a space for her to walk between and she heard orders of what was to be done with the dragon's body as she ignored it all and headed back to Windhelm. There was much talk about the dragon but news it had been felled had not yet reached them. _Let it take forever,_ she thought frustratedly. Wanting her small measure of peace knowing it would not last long now.

 

\----

 

When after what felt like the tiniest of reprieves, a large banging began outside her rented rooms door, she knew that she had been right.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It was late, not late enough that people were asleep, but late enough that the shops were closed and the inn was full of its patrons. Some drinking off the weight of another day, other's celebrating, and more still just enjoying the company of their friends.

Anwen thought ruefully to the last time she had jovially drank with others. It had been months ago. Before Kodlak had died, before she was named Harbinger. Farkas, Aela and her had sat outside Jorrvaskr and toasted to her joining them officially. The memories were warm. Anwen missed the Companions but they knew what she must do, had offered to help her but facing Alduin was her fate and hers alone.

Instead she ignored the revelry and sought refuge in her room. Anticipation kept her from changing into something more comfortable and had her pacing, unable to settle down to even read her book. It took longer than she had first thought for the banging knock to rain down on her door and even after the time she had waited her stomach still twisted and she drew her blade, approaching.

“Who goes there?” she called half-knowing the response.

“Galmar Stone-Fist,” the gruff reply came back and she let out a huff. It would be too much for the great Jarl to come see her, obviously. “Your presence is needed.”

“Demanded?”

There was almost a snort of laughter and his tone dropped, the edge disappearing from it. “Aye. Demanded.”

Sheathing her weapon, she unlocked the door and considered the old bear. He hadn't changed much, still wore that damn helm and carried the war axe that was no decoration. “Am I to be prisoner?” she asked carefully hedging her bets and he rolled his shoulders.

“Only if you keep him waiting,” Galmar met her gaze steadily. “Come on, _dragonborn.”_

Out of all the things he could call her, all the things that he had in the past, that was a surprise. Almost a courtesy. She raised her brow but he merely turned and began walking down the stairs, mumbling about Jorleif being the courier not him. It made her smile if only briefly.

Being escorted out of the inn by the Jarl's Housecarl caused a few curious glances cast their way and when Anwen met Elda's she gave an apology and a promise for more gold within her eyes. It seemed to settle the old woman who encouraged their bard to restart his song.

The cool air hit Anwen like a slap and she regretting not having grabbed her fur-lined cloak as she suppressed a shudder. It was not a long journey to the Palace however and Galmar kept a quick pace. Quick enough for her to keep her shouldered levelled. It was not long before the warmth of fire and scent of food mixed with mead hit her as the large wooden doors opened before them.

Their eyes met immediately and there was nothing even remotely kind in them this time as she approached the throne.

“As requested,” Galmar replied with clear annoyance. “Anwen, the supposed _dragonborn,_ although why Ralof or Jorleif couldn't fetch her is beyond me.”

“Galmar,” Ulfric's word with heavy with annoyance as though this argument was not fresh.

“Jarl Ulfric,” she respectfully bowed and was careful to keep her expression studied; calm, almost bored and a clear mask. “You summoned me?”

“So you are the mysterious dragoborn? You killed a dragon just outside Windhelm earlier today, is that correct?”

She bowed her head. “It is.”

With her admission his eyes darkened. So many questions but he would not voice any of them. _Stubborn fool,_ she thought but did not dare say. “And what is it that has brought you to Windhelm?”

Anwen realised that he wished for her to ask for his help again. He wanted to see her beg but she had prepared herself better. Her earlier approach was wrong. It was a fool move to think anything that had passed between them would still stand and even more so to try and play on that. So she straightened and held his gaze. “I have a message from the Greybeards.”

“It's about time they got off their mountain and joined this conflict,” Ulfric stated and his glare shifted somewhat, his ire moving from her to another. “What have you to say for them?”

“I need to defeat Alduin,” she stated plainly. It was her plan now to get in and out with as little pain as possible. “To do so I need the use of Dragonsreach. Jarl Balgruuf will not help me if he fears you or the Imperials are about to march at him. The Greybeards wish to invite you to talks for a peace treaty.”

“A peace treaty?” Galmar hissed and Ulfric laughed.

“The only peace there will be is when their Imperials and Thalmor leave Skyrim and General Tullius' head lies on a pike.”

_A lovely image,_ Anwen kept her nose from twisting in disgust. “Alduin is a _real_ threat.”

The two men shared a glance, another silent conversation that she wanted to just walk away from but she held her ground. “That is true. No more so than now there are dragons at my gate. I will go although how you will get General Tullius to -”

Anwen's gaze narrowed as she interrupted. “I already have.”

She felt Galmar's and Ulfric's gaze upon her, judging. She knew what they were thinking, in the back of their minds they wondered where her allegiance may lay and once more the insinuation irked. She had given all that she had to there cause and still they doubted her.

When Ulfric spoke, it was measured. “You should consider joining the Stormcloaks, a woman with your abilities -”

She cut him off with a curt laugh that turned to a sneer as she spoke, unable to prevent the venom from intertwining within her words. “The last time I helped you, I almost died.”

“And I alongside you,” he narrowed his gaze upon her. “A lot has happened since Helgen.”

“And some things remain the same,” she shook her head. “The meeting is on Turdas next week.”

Anwen turned then, done with this conversation. Her message was given and she could finally think about something that wasn't Ulfric when she left this forsaken city. This time there was no call for her to halt as she approached the doors. Just as she reached them, Jorleif entered and took one look at her, eyes widening.

She glowered at him and he quickly moved to the side, ducking his head. Anwen could have let it slide but she was angry and she was not quick enough to clamp down on the comment. “You owe me gold. I had not forgot.”

He nodded but she left without reply, cursing her remark all the way back to the Candlehearth inn, interspersed with cursing Ulfric Stormcloak. To look at him now, to see the mistrust in his eyes, hurt her more dearly than she could have expected. She had rotted in a cell for months for him and he had nothing but accusations for her. To think of her pain was too close and so she didn’t. Instead she became angry.

Anger she could deal with. Anger fuelled her onwards and with what faced her, she would take any fuel that she could get.

\-----

 


	5. Chapter 5

When morning came and she threw her legs over the bed, she regretted not having left the night before. The sensible part of her mind told her that it would be safer and better to wait until morning light but for all the tossing and turning as her body hit her with image after image, memory after memory of her previous time in this city, she had not gotten the rest she had sought.  

It was becoming too close. Some of the men of the inn had started peering at her, trying to catch her at a different angle, recall why she had an edge of familiarity. Thankfully none were quite so keen-eyed or familiar as Ralof or other members of the Palace. After all she had spent most of her time there or in the barracks.

Anwen wanted to throw all her belongings back in her pack, toss Elda a few more coins and be gone. She had enough time to make it back to Whiterun yet, perhaps she could even ride out with Balgruuf but she doubted that was a good idea. So far this war, since becoming dragonborn anyway, she had maintained blissful neutrality.

Riding in with Balgruuf who seemed more inclined to join the Imperials with each passing week would probably a bad idea. Riften she already knew to stay clear of which left little within range save Winterhold and her responsibilities there. Perhaps High Hrothgar itself would host her until the negotiations began?

_I'll figure it out on the road,_ she decided as she made sure nothing was left and exited first her room, and then the inn, and landed straight in front of Ralof.

“Divines help me,” she cursed as she met his gaze and he smiled, that same stupid familiar smile that still warmed her.

“Going somewhere?” he asked casually as she started walking towards the gates, he hot on her tails.

“Leaving Windhelm,” she told him coldly, tugging her cape closer still. _Damn this weather. Damn this hold._

“So soon?”

There was a lilt to his tone that brought it all back and had her whirling on him and shoving him hard in the chest. He stumbled backwards trying to hide his surprise. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he asked brow furrowing as he rubbed his chest.

“You damn well know what, Ralof,” she shoved him again not pandering to his game. “The answer is no. _No_. No I do not do that anymore. Find someone else to keep your bed warm.”

“Hey now,” his expression shifted straight to concern as she seethed. It was too much being back here. Too much a reminder of what she had done to survive and turned into a way of life. Outside these walls she was dragonborn but inside, inside she was still a young woman who found herself way over her head. “I wasn't -” at her glower he lifted his hands in defence and stepped closer. “Okay, maybe I was but I won't again. Alright?”

Still glowering, she nodded tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. He moved into her space but was careful not to touch her. She felt his gaze upon her and she hated the feel of it. She hated that he'd moved to a place where she'd have to look up at him. People in her personal space had never been an issue but right then it was. It was too familiar. Too caring.

“You okay?”

She stepped backwards before looking at him, letting some of her weariness through the mask. “Fine.”

He lifted his brow. “I have known you long enough to tell a lie when I see one.”

Anger filled her and she flipped, turning back to old habits to prove a point, she bit her lips and fluttered her eyes. It probably didn't work the same way with the war paint as it once had but she saw his gaze flicker. She moved close to him, leant up on her tip toes, feeling his heart race as she pressed a hand to his chest and murmured, “You know _nothing_ about me.”

Stepping back, she turned away without a glance backwards. The cool air was harsher against her skin as she headed out of the gates and along the bridge. It would be just under a week before she would have to see any of them again and it wasn't long enough.

The stables seemed surprisingly empty as she approached. Right until she walked up to Onyx and saw the looming figure.

“I see even after all this time that Onyx has been a good friend to you.”

“ _Traitor,”_ she murmured beneath her breath as she looked to her horse, neighing as a strong hand stroked down her mane. “Jarl, I did not expect to see you here.”

Anwen had not recovered from what had happened a moment ago and so her mask was not what it should have been. Her eyes were enraged and her lips terse. Ulfric read it off of her and raised his brow. Apparently that wasn’t what he had expected when he had set out to find her. If for nothing else, she was glad of that. She was worlds apart from who she had been before and every reminder was a good thing.  

“But I knew you would be here,” he patted the horse one last time and moved away. Anwen glanced around for where Galmar was, knowing he would not stray far from his Jarl. She had yet to spot him when she felt a figure to close and stepped back on instinct. “Where is it that you are going?”

_Damn her indecision._ “High Hrothgar,” she lied and he read it on her face. For all her bravado before Ralof just moments ago she knew that she was still an open book. Anwen had gotten better at it but if she was caught off guard or already affected it was too much of an effort for her to lie convincingly.

“The meeting is not for another week yet. Why would you go there now?”

“To speak to Arngeir. To meditate.”

He gave her an almost pitying look as he crossed his arms. “High Hrothgar is nothing but old men and cold. It does not have what it needs to keep you entertained.”

Whether meant as such or not, the phrasing irked her. “You know nothing of me, Ulfric. Why are you here?”

Never one to back away from a challenge, he straightened and lay it out for her. “I wish for you to ride to High Hrothgar with Galmar and I.”

“Why?”

“I could say many things. Safety in numbers, if nothing else, but I want the Imperials to know you stand with us.”

“Do I?” she tossed back at him. He didn't rise to her challenge.

“Come back to the Palace. A room has been made for you to stay until we are ready to leave.”

“How presumptuous of you,” she let out a breath wanting nothing more than to pace but not wanting to let him know he was getting to her. The glint in his eyes told that he already did. “I am no longer a pawn for you to move along the battlefield.”

“You were always a free woman.”

“Was I?” she turned unable to face him as she recalled that conversation. The one that sent her from the warmth and comfort she had acquired in Windhelm and on a lonely road to do his bidding. It had been her choice, or so he'd told her, but it never really was. She knew that now.

A hand came to rest upon her hip, a movement made a hundred times but she did not feel relief with the heat of his chest pressed against her back.

“Let go,” it was meant to be a demand but it came out more of a whisper.

Still he obeyed, stepping back with such ease. It was unfair really, how much he still affected her. “Come back to the Palace. We can speak of your concerns there.”

“ _No.”_

“Arla -”

She whirled on him. “That is _not_ my name. Do not call me that!”

The ferocity in her tone clearly startled him enough to let her walk away this time. Wasting no time, not wanting him to recover before she was gone, she quickly untied Onyx from the stable and mounted her. Before she next took a breath she was far away from Windhelm and making no inclination of heading back that way.


	6. Chapter 6

A long time ago, a little girl sat upon a bridge not far from Rorikstead throwing stones into the water to watch the ripples. She had no concerns, no pressing plans, no obligations. The little girl did not need worry if the crops were growing properly or about if there would be food on the table. The little girl would do happy dances in the rain as her mother called her in before she caught her death.

Now, that little girl, grown and wiser to the world groaned as the heavens opened up beneath her. Her pack was waxed to keep most of the water out but she could not say the same about herself. It had only started about ten minutes ago and she already felt the damp soaking through her clothes and cold sinking into her bones.

Anwen had ridden out on the southern road and now sat upon an impasse. As she gazed up towards the Throat of the World, she knew that what Ulfric had said had been true about that at least. High Hrothgar was nothing if not incredibly boring and Ivarstead was no different. Anwen remembered when she was sent to High Hrothgar at Balgruuf's request and how she had finished what she needed know as quickly as she could and moved on immediately after.

Anwen had never been one to sit idle. High Hrothgar would have nothing to offer her save peace and quiet and with her mind in its current state of unease she was certain that was the last thing that she wanted. She told herself she wanted a mission, something small to keep her hands busy even if the meeting loomed in the distance. With a swift encouragement, she hurried Onyx on to a gallop and headed towards Riften. If nothing else, it had a warm bed.

Unfortunately, even deciding on a direction did not save her from the two hour ride to Riften by which time she was shivering. The stable master knew her well and did not question when she handed the reins over with a small pouch of coins, although that could have had something to do with her face. She had no doubt that the paint had run lines down it, made her look like something undead as she slipped into the gates of the city and quickly, without turning or talking to anyone, headed to Honeyside.

Iona was sitting at the table, cutting some vegetables and stiffened at the sound of the door, glancing over her shoulders before relaxing. “My Thane, I was under the impression you would not be back for some time.”

Anwen pursed her lips at that remembering again why she had been ignoring this particular hold for the last month and a bit. With Ulfric and the war she had actually forgotten about it entirely. “As was I,” she turned to her room, realising that in the grand scheme of things, this trifle really wasn't much more than awkward. “If Brynjolf comes looking -”

“I haven't seen you,” the housecarl droned as if it were her hundredth time saying it. It made Anwen chuckle but the noise simply reminded her of her chattering teeth and she hurried on.

Honestly, Brynjolf wasn't a bad sort – thieving notwithstanding – he was kind to her and when he had laughed alongside her, when he had brushed his hand across her cheek and leant forward to kiss her, she had felt _something_. A tingle in her stomach, a need that clawed at her but she pushed him and all of it away.

It was too much of a memory of her past and she was in no mentality to deal with it now. Thinking back, she was glad of her decision and more affirmed that it was the right one. Anwen had never had a true relationship and her friendship with Brynjolf was too valuable for her to jeprodize trying to figure everything out.

Another thought occurred to her as she wrestled unresponsive fingers as she bid to undo the buckles to her gloves. How would she even begin to explain her past to someone? There were parts that she did not wish to recall and more still she doubted another could understand.

Giving up with her fingers, she tugged at the straps with her teeth, rubbing her hands together furiously in a bid for warmth before attempting the rest of her outfit. Her mind kept her plenty occupied. Brynjolf was a good friend and nothing more, she decided, even if her thoughts were not so easily stilled, played games of what ifs.

When she had finally changed into a simple tunic, she glanced onto the patio, watching for a long moment as the raindrops made ripples in the water. It did a better job of calming her mind than anything she could think or say to herself.

“Everything alright, my Thane?” Iona asked from behind, watching her, guarding her as always.

“Not really,” she told her housecarl, closing the door and coming inside.

“Is it about Alduin? Or the peace talk?”

“Yes,” Anwen lied sitting down by the fire and bringing her legs up to her chest. “Yes, it is.”

\-----

_The desk was cold against her bared back, only the fabric of her smalls to protect her, as she was trapped against the wood, nowhere to run not that she'd want to. He breathed into her skin and the sensation of him pressed against her gave her life. She let out a little moan, not a fake one like she did with the others, but a real one, low and needy as his fingers skimmed down into her smalls, catching against her._

_His lips were occupied on her neck, sucking marks into the flesh, his other hand tenderly squeezing and massaging her breast. She gasped, head dropping back as his finger entered her, slow known movements that had a sensation pooling in her stomach, spreading out to all her limbs._

_She was needy and weak in his tender care, hands tightening over the edge of the desk, knuckles white as he moved his kisses lower. “Ulfric -” she groaned as his hands ripped down her smalls and the remainder of her dressings, letting it drop on the floor. “Ulfric, please -”_

_He chuckled, coming back to her face, kissing her jaw his hand hovering, close but not close enough. “What do you want, Arla?”_

“ _You,” she moved her hands to grab his collar, tugging his lips to hers. He went easily and her hands migrated lower, unbuckling and shoving the fabric out of the way until she was finally given access. She only stroked him a few times before he growled in warning. She scooted up on the desk, lifted her hips and wrapped legs around him._

_He plunged into her and she gasped, the feeling encasing her, he sunk deeply and nudged a spot inside her that left her reeling as she saw stars. It was not long after that that she dove into Oblivion, calling his name._

_Still inside her, thrusting to meet his own end, he stroked her skin, pushing her down. She felt a quill poking her in her spine but made no complaint. Not when he made her feel that **.** She stretched her body out before him, letting him admire the view as she knew he loved but kept glancing at him. _

“ _You are maddening, Arla,” he groaned and his thrusts became faster, his hands were grasped tightly on her hips and she keened, groaning low as his skin brushed against her sensitive spot, clenching around him. He fell into her, all but a growl emanating from his throat as he spilled his seed inside her, falling forwards onto the desk and catching himself on his hands._

_Still dressed as he was, he only looked a little dishevelled outwardly but she saw his true release in his eyes, the stress and tension leaving them for a brief reprieve. She loved that she could give him that. That she had always given him that, if only for a scant few minutes._

_As he pulled himself off and offered her a hand, she felt that feeling again. The one that she had always so successfully guarded herself from but in his bed, in his arms, with his lips against hers she couldn't stop herself from wishing that it was real and letting carefully built walls shatter._

_He offered her her dress from the floor with a wry smile as he moved over to a table, pouring two goblets of wine but bringing over three. The third was a small bottle, a brown liquid with a hint of red. She knew it well. It had a constant presence in her home but most of her partners left her to take it when she was ready. Not Ulfric._

“ _Here,” he offered her the potion of childsbane and she held his gaze as she swallowed it, quickly chasing it with some of the alto wine he offered her. The Jarl wanted no bastards._

“ _Thank you.”_

_There was a glint in his eyes, “I have a job for you.”_

“ _Oh?” she asked behind a smirk, sauntering over the short distance to where he was depositing the vial, sway in her hip. “Already?”_

_He chuckled and placed his hand over her hip, guided her with it to the edge of his bed. She wondered why she had bothered with the gown as his hands pushed it aside once more, pressing kisses into the skin on her neck and lower. “It's for the war.”_

“ _What could I do to help you?” she asked a little breathlessly already his touches doing things to her hear._

“ _You already do much,” he told her murmuring and the words sank deep within her. She hated when he said things like that because it made her want. A want she shouldn't allow. “But we need information. Men are dying out there because we send them into ambushes,” although his words were serious his fingers never wavered as they pressed into the muscles of her back. “We need someone within their ranks, gathering information.”_

“ _A spy?” she asked and he chuckled, a kiss down the centre of her spine._

“ _Aye. A spy. And I think you'd be the perfect candidate.”_

_She glanced over her shoulder at him in disbelief. “What do you mean?”_

“ _A woman with your **talents,”** the word hit her like a spike. “Could easily get information from officers, maybe even generals. Talos knows soldiers in war need their beds warming more than most.” _

_It was a dagger that cut her and she turned her face away, needing to hide the pain. “You want me to -” she didn't want to say the words but she forced them out anyway. “Offer myself to the officers? For information?”_

“ _You won't sell it like that. Do what you always do but take note of what they say, ask leading questions. I doubt there's no secret a man could keep against you.”_

_Arla didn't think she could breathe and the touches that had felt so loving only a moment ago now felt tactical and cruel. “Send whatever you learn back here. You'll be well compensated,” he chuckled after a moment. “By both sides.”_

_Her hands clutched to the fabric of her dress as he stood, not looking back to her. “When you're ready, come downstairs and Galmar will tell you where you're heading first...”_

Bile rose in Anwen's throat as she remembered the night and she sat up just in time to aim at the bowl next to her bed. How much of a fool she had been, for accepting her task, but even more so for believing his touches before then. She had only ever been a whore and it was her own fault for the pain that she had felt.

It was all she could do to push out of her sheets before the next memories came. The memory of how she felt sick when the first Imperial touched her, the pain of laughing about Ulfric when she wanted no more than to be near him, and later the anguish as she was thrown into a jail cell and spat upon. She splashed her face with water but the sweat was still on her. She walked to the balcony and threw the doors open, letting the cool air with the tang of the river surround her.

She eventually came back to herself to shut the door behind her, not letting all the heat leave as she walked to the railing and looked down to the river. It was black as oil but flowed smoother. The rain had stopped at some point but the wood beneath her arms still felt damp. The sweat on her neck dried and she felt her first shiver.

_I was an idiot for caring for him._

_He only ever used me._

The thoughts were back and she shoved at them, a bit of self-loathing in there as she remembered why he had been able to use her so. She had given him all he needed to. She had given him all that she had and it was her own fool fault.

Lost in her contemplation she didn't see the figure in the night but he saw her. She was first aware of his presence when the floorboard squeaked beneath his weight. She turned with a wry smile. “You're getting worse at this, Brynjolf.”

He tipped an imaginary hat at her. “Your floorboard needs fixing.”

“All the better to keep thieves out.”

He laughed at that and came to stand by her side. In the night there was a distant shouting of, “ _Thief_! _Thief_!” but they both ignored it. They'd never chase the job back to Brynjolf and certainly would never think to look in Honeyside.

“What are you doing awake so late?” he asked and she rested her back against the railings.

“Oh just getting some air.”

“Nightmares?”

She scowled at him. “I don't get nightmares.”

“Whatever you say, lass, but it isn’t dreams that makes one stand in the cold of night in naught but breeches and a rather thin shirt.”

Anwen didn't chastise him for looking. “How'd the job go?”

He pulled a golden jewelled candlestick from behind his back with triumph. “Fairly well.”

“How's the guild?”

“Lost without you.”

“Don't lie, Bryn. It doesn't suit you.”

He chuckled and the sound was light. She wished to feel that carefree. She supposed she had those first few jobs in the guild before everything with Mercer Frey and then the war and destiny catching up with her. “Fine. We're doing well, lass. Our luck finally seems to be changing.”

“It should do for what it took to get it back,” she rolled her eyes and stretched. It was too cold. Borderline painfully so. “I'm heading inside and no, that's not an offer.”

It was a warm mirth that left his lips as he laughed and shook his head. “You don't have to tell me twice, lass. Sleep well. Pop down for a drink sometime.”

His words reminded her of Niranye with a curse. “If you speak to Niranye, tell her I'm sorry. I had to leave sooner than I thought.”

“Windhelm?” he rose his brow. It had been a while since she'd explained what she'd been up to and she had none of the energy to do so then, shrugging. Although she had not told anyone about her life before, none that did not already know, he knew of her lack of love for the place.

“Duty.”

“Alright lass. Good night.”

He waited for her to head inside before he disappeared into the night. Anwen felt a touch better for seeing him but it was still not great. A few days in Riften wouldn't kill her though. Knowing it was hardly worth it, Anwen climbed into her bed and hoped her dreams would be so and not best-forgotten memories of another life.


	7. Chapter 7

Riften had a terrible reputation. One that was not entirely unworthy considering the Thieves Guild running just beneath its streets. That said Anwen found surprisingly few jobs that required her set of skills. Well. That wasn’t true. A quick trip into the Cistern and Anwen would find them pouring at her from all angles but she had stepped away from that life already.

The Guild had been there for her when she was down in the dirt, when it felt like she couldn't even rub two septims together, and had inadvertently helped her find Esbern. Though it didn't seem like it at times, there were still lines that Anwen was unwilling to cross though and becoming a Nightingale was one of them. She had still helped catch – and kill – Mercer Frey. When Brynjolf offered her the position of Guild Master she had turned them down and after a lot of thought decided it wasn't the life for her.

It wouldn't do well for the dragonborn to spend a few months in a cell for being caught during a heist. She missed the people if she didn’t miss the subterfuge. Her friends. The whole situation was still a novelty to her. She had had friends as a child but not one of them had been there for her when she had needed them most.

These people though, the Guild and the Companions, she could trust them with her life. Had done more than once already.

The lack of action didn't keep her from sticking around though. Although she had traded a lot with Niranye in Windhelm, there was always more she could get rid of. After dropping off the more priceless weapons at home she spent the day slowly taking all the gold off of the various venders until her pack was blissfully light.

“I need to get a smaller pack,” she told Iona who huffed.

“What so you can get me to carry everything when yours gets full?”

“No,” she ignored the jibe. It wasn't like she did that too often. “So I can't fill it so much. When I returned from that cave last month, it felt like I was carrying a dead body home.”

“No, just the armour, his swords, his comrade’s swords, and whatever shiny things you spotted.”

“Those shiny things paid for the house and all the nice furnishings,” she reminded a little petulantly, crossing her arms as they headed out towards the stables. Anwen trusted the stable master but her horse had saved her life enough time to warrant personal care from her hands.

“Of course, my Thane.”

“Don't start with that,” she rubbed her temple. Iona had a temper and since she wasn't allowed to physically harm Anwen it became passive aggressive statements said through gritted teeth and occasionally, the housecarl just storming off. “You can head back; I'm just going out to Onyx.”

“Won’t pack the damn horse up like a wagon but you do me,” Iona mumbled as she disappeared and Anwen shook her head. Housecarls were useful but by the gods they could be annoying. Lydia always shouting about Skyrim belonging to the Nords, never mind her Thane being a Breton, Argis charging into every battle like a damn Orc even when Anwen was trying to just get to her destination without having to bleed, and Jordis' hatred for elves. A spare hand was always helpful but sometimes life was easier if she just took Farkas out with her.

Onyx was standing tall and proud as she approached, content but also ready and waiting for Anwen to just hop onto her back and ride away. Offering an apple on approach, she picked up a brush from nearby and started grooming the beast.

The simple movements took her mind off of things, kept her occupied and at peace. Tomorrow morning, she would head out to Ivarstead and then High Hrothgar upon her horse. She had no idea what to expect from this ‘peace treaty’. If she could even call it that. As long as it didn't end as a blood bath, Anwen was going to call it a success.

Onyx neighed when she stilled for too long, nudging her shoulder with her head. “Sorry girl,” Anwen apologised meeting those dark chestnut eyes.

Out of followers and housecarls, her horse had been more loyal to her than any other. The one good thing that Ulfric had gifted her before she had left on his task. She was just glad that the soldiers had left her steed alone.

Anwen sat outside for hours with her horse before she succumbed to the demands of her body and headed inside, doubting she would find such peace again at High Hrothgar.

\-------

The start of negotiations was nothing if not turbulent. Between the Blades' unexpected arrival, and Ulfric throwing a fit at Elenwen's appearance, and Galmar and Rikke's outbursts, Anwen had a headache before everyone had fully seated. Particularly as Ulfric kept staring, better yet, glaring, at her whenever the opportunity presented.

She thought at the very least, refusing to admit Elenwen would have calmed him. She should have known that could not be so from the moment he opened his mouth, smiling across the table as he intertwined his fingers.

“We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to a truce,” Ulfric spoke in an unwavering way and Anwen wanted to scream at them all the real threat, to point them to the skies were dragons were swooping down upon their people. Not that she had the chance. Elisif was quick to fire back.

“So that's why you're here, Ulfric? You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?”

“Jarl Elisif, I'll handle this.”

Whilst Anwen had no great love for the Empire, in that moment she wanted to glower. If nothing for the woman who had been through so much. She seemed prepared to hold her own at least.

“General, this is outrageous! You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!”

“Elisif! I said I'd handle it. Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?

At least, when Anwen had yet to find her voice, Arngeir had. “I'm sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing.”

“Yes, that'd be entirely out of character,” Anwen twitched her nose at the murmured comment even as the others drew quiet. It took a moment to realise that their collective gaze had fallen upon her. Divines, she had only come to this thing to get what she needed. She little enough had patience for this.

“What do you think is a fair trade?” Tullius asked her and she wanted to glower at the old man.

Still, she took her time to think about it. Damn it all, when she had been on the other side, watching the Imperials she had never felt safe. Even when travelling. The damn Thalmor would watch her every move, caught her in the end too and for all the love-lost between her and Ulfric, she did, begrudgingly, believe in his cause.

“Dawnstar and the pale would be of equal value.” Anwen refused to glance at the predatory smile upon Ulfric's face as Tullius erupted in protest. Divines help her should she ever wish to join the Imperials now. When he would not relent she glowered at him, “You asked my opinion. I gave it you.”

It was only a feeling, but Anwen felt the shift. Whatever Tullius had thought before of her neutrality, he clearly doubted it now.

“I didn't come here to hand over territory on such unfair terms,” The General stood and Anwen felt fear that it would fall through because of some stupid past sense of loyalty from her.

“Stop! Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about... nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!” Esbern's outburst stilled all around and Anwen felt relief at that if nothing else. Decisions made in the heat of anger were never good ones.

Of course, Ulfric did not see it that way. Demanding, “Is he with you, Delphine? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

“He is with me. And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash.”

“Don't you understand the danger? Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?

It sobered the old warrior. “If he's right about Alduin... we both have just as much to lose here, Tullius, remember that.”

Ready to pull out her hair, Anwen turned to Angeir but the peace of silence did not last. Tullius shouting, “Don't hand me a mug of sheep's piss and call it Colovian brandy. These terms are still not acceptable.”

With a fast-developing migraine, Anwen trudged through the rest of the treaty, agreeing to give the Empire compensation for Karthwasten and all but held her breath as Arngeir read through the terms and both sides agreed. For a moment, she thought that Ulfric had grown, a thought she quickly dismissed as malformed.

Anwen waited, wishing to speak a few words with Angeir and only hesitated when neither Ulfric or Galmar made to move. Eventually, even Angeir and the Blades moved to leave the three of them in their room, Ulfric still seated, eyes watching her closely.

“Even with your denials,” he told her firmly but in a calm voice. “It is good to see where your loyalties still lie, dragonborn.”

“Believe it or not, Ulfric,” she forwent his title without fear of repercussion. “I needed this treaty to be made and now it has I can get on with killing Alduin. This time he won't have anywhere to run.”

“You've fought him already?” the Jarl asked and she felt Galmar's gaze upon her too. It was not well known and it was best for her to keep it that way. She had let too much go.

“I have,” she told them with a glance. “Excuse me, I must prepare for what is to come.”

“Wait,” Ulfric demanded standing but she had little enough patience for more argument. Without waiting a wink or speaking to another, she left High Hrothgar and made tracks to Whiterun. Anwen had a lot to do and could waste no time even thinking of Ulfric when knowing what would stand before her. It was a crazy plan but what else could she use to defeat the one who would destroy the world?


	8. Chapter 8

Exhaustion. 

It was a word that she had known the meaning to well after her long travels up and down every inch of Skyrim, now as she lay in Breezehome, bandages around her torso, upper arm and all over her left leg, without even the energy to lift her hand she realised that her past exhaustion had been _nothing_. Anwen was empty, drained in entirety and after meeting with Alduin and fulfilling her destiny she had felt an empty shell. Without even the energy to heal her wounds it had taken every last potion she had had to make it back to Whiterun.

Why Whiterun? She had not even had to ask herself where she might return, instinctually knowing that was where she need be. She could reason that it was her closest home to the Throat of the World but she did not need to lie to herself over this. Whiterun had been good to her, the Jarl had been kind and open when he could have been cold and judgemental. The Companions had accepted her, some more reluctantly than others, but she now had a place amongst them all. That is what she yearned. A place where she was judged as equal and friend.

And she had relied heavily on that friendship when she returned to Whiterun. Without her horse, the journey was even more drawn out and it was luck and the God’s blessing that she was not set upon as she journeyed. Arngeir had offered her refuge but she had felt a stronger call. By the time she reached the Pelagia farm she all but crawled. First Onyx had found her, a startled Skulvar trying to coast the beast back to his stables when he saw her and quickly sent for help.

Lydia came first the twin wolves, Farkas and Vilkas, only steps behind her. Anwen’s vision was blurred as she watched them approach and it was the first time that she registered true fear on her Nord companion’s face. The rest came back to her in patches. She remembered being carried by one of the brother’s but no recollection of which. There were potions, more of that foul liquid poured through her unwilling lips that left her crying out her body not strong enough to take the forced healing. It had been too much too soon, skin and bones forced to twist and mend unnaturally and the point came where her body rejected more.

Even if she tried she could not keep another bottle of red liquid down and so she was finally given rest instead. It might have been wonderful if not for the pain that still ravaged her body. Whenever a wound needed cleaning she bit her lip hard to hide the whimper. She had been taken back to Breezehome, some agreement passing between the wolves and her housecarl but she still saw them plenty.

Farkas trusted Lydia but Anwen saw from Vilkas’ eyes the mistrust.

“It’s not her fault,” she told him the second day she was fully lucid after her return, closer to the fourth in reality, when she watched his glower follow the war maiden out of the room.

“She is sworn to protect you.”

“I could not take her where I went,” she stated plainly meeting worried grey eyes. He wanted to know the story, yearned for it as much as Farkas whenever he came to visit but she was not well enough yet and the wounds too fresh to re-open.

“She should have been there upon your return then.”

There was a petulance to his voice that made her smile. “I did not know when or where that may be. It was enough for her to stay here and look out for my home.” 

He studied her at length before breaking eye contact and flicking his gaze to the double-doors out of her room that were kept wide open. “I should send for Farenger. He should tend to your wounds.”

She shook her head again. It seemed that no more than three hours could pass without this suggestion. It would do not good. Her body rejected all attempts at manipulation. Her injuries were such that if she were not already a mage she would have not made it from Sovngarde and if her pack had not been full of the red blood-like substitute that forced when her mana left her, she would not have made it down the mountain.

All she needed was time.

And she could feel herself healing. Those first bursts of consciousness had been mere moments but now she was able to waken for a few hours before she succumbed and was now sitting upright willingly.

“Give me a week and I’ll be back on my feet.”

“If it’s in less than two you are a fool,” he shook his head, a smile tugging the corners of his lips as he stood. “I will let you rest.”

She felt her eyelids drooping and made no protest. “Look after the Companions for me.”

“I always do, Harbinger.”

Warmth filled her heart. She was too young and inexperienced to take on such a mantle but the position had been laid upon her feet. One of a very long list. Without Vilkas she would have failed them by now but he was there when she was not, was wise and trusted in the decisions he made in her stead.

Anwen drifted not long after and when she awoke next it was to hear the sounds of Aela speaking with Lydia. And such her days passed. She would sleep, eat, sleep, and be visited by those who called her friend. True to what she had said within the week she had found herself on her feet, hobbling once more around her home. She could do no great length without her breath escaping and leaning heavily against the nearest surface that would hold her weight.

It felt as though the leg was the most grievous of injuries but with everything else it was hard to determine where most of the pain resonated from. Sometimes she woke in agony, liquid fire pouring through her veins as she writhed. When it became too horrendous her housecarl-turned-nursemaid would give her a milk that dulled her senses. She hated it most of all her reliefs for she did not feel herself.

Her dreams and thoughts were not easily controlled under such influence. Images of a life before creeped up on her. _A small room over a store. A collection of perfume bottles. A smattering of clothes too expensive for her. A selection of gifts that came with a particular price. The press of men against her skin. Her parent’s bodies, blood pooling around them, eyes unseeing even as they bore through her._

Worst of all, she remembered every inch of _him_.

So Anwen decided that the pain was better. Better than bitter reminded of her misguided youth. When her leg quaked through the pain she focused on how much worse it could have been. It had been broken and was almost certainly not any longer but the colour of her skin was still closer to night, some spots of purple developing but the bruises were nasty. _A meteor did fall onto it,_ she remembered diving out the way only it to crush her leg anyway. Fighting through the pain was probably not the best idea but it was her only choice at the time. 

As the days passed and her independence grew, Lydia’s constant worrying became restraining and she found herself escaping her small home in the dead of night just to spite the woman. She never got far, however.

The worst was when her trembling leg gave out before she could reach the top of the stairs that led to the Wind District. A guard heard her cry and quickly came over, escorting her home with pity in his eyes. She could not take the pity.

The next day, Lydia became more overbearing still and Anwen felt herself snap. She left the house without a glance backwards and would have readily taken a carriage out of the hold had she not stumbled into Farkas.

Their light bump should not have been enough to disturb her balance alas the need was great when his hand caught her elbow. Without needing to be asked, he took some of her weight and walked them over to nearby steps. The sun was high in the sky and she felt uncomfortable in the heat but brushed those thoughts aside as she waited for him to speak.

It was with a little blush of embarrassment that she realised she had something to say first. “Thank you,” she told him and he gave him a smile that was still wolfish even after their trip to Ygsgramor's tomb together.

“How are you doing, Harbinger?”

“I have been better,” she told him with a smile. “But Alduin is defeated.”

“And yet you are troubled.”

There was no denying it. She felt trapped in the place she had been so eager to return to. The hatred that had first been there when her adventuring began had quickly left her. She enjoyed the freedom that had not been offered her before this point.

“I think I need to leave Whiterun. Just for a few days. Or at the very least get away from Lydia.”

Farkas laughed, a warm encompassing sound. “Your room in Jorrvaskr remains.”

Though he did not speak on her other words, his silence was enough for her. “You do not think I should leave either.”

“No.”

She sighed and dropped her head into her hands. She was not meant to be caged even by well-doing friends. Eventually Farkas left her when she made no larger attempt at speech. Anwen thought of all the things she could do, it was still long, and what she could manage. Riften came to her mind but it was not a safe place and she was in no state to protect herself. One thought to her housecarl there left her with a bitter taste in her mouth, suspecting Iona to be as suffocating if not more than Lydia. With little desire to go North to Solitude or so far as Markarth or Winterhold, she shook her heard in dismay.

What felt like eons later, Anwen made it back to Breezehome and Lydia’s severe expression. Rather than fight, as Anwen expected, the woman merely pointed a finger to a letter upon the table, turned and headed to her room.

The first thoughts of the dragonborn were for her housecarl. It was not an easy lot to live with Anwen, she was sure. Slowly as she sat upon the table, rubbing close to but not along the line of her leg wound her attention slowly drew to the letter.

Initially, Anwen assumed a request for help or something similar and dismissed it until such a time that she could deal with it. However, her instinct bit against her logic. Perhaps it was the look of the parchment, the quality she saw there. Maybe it was a subtle smell that gave away it’s parentage but as Anwen drew it into her hand she was certain who it had come from.

Tentatively she retreated to her room with it, feeling the need for quiet as she sat upon her bed and broke the wax seal. There was familiarity with the penmanship that settled unevenly within her.

For a moment it proved to be too much and she had to tear her eyes away, focusing on the roof and counting to ten to try and calm the overload of emotions that accosted her at the mere thought of Ulfric Stormcloak. With a nervous tap of her finger upon the bedding beneath her, she finally forced her eyes to the words.

_Dragonborn,_

_If the skies are to be believed, then Alduin is defeated. You received what you desired from the peace talks. Now I want something in return. Return to Windhelm there is much to discuss._

_Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak._

Anwen laughed. Then she scowled. She balled the parchment and barely refrained from throwing it across the room. What emotions his demands drew from her. What right did he to do as such?

There was no surprise that he would view her deference to him during the talks as a favour to him when she had won him a hold at little expense. Talos guide her that man was infuriating. There was a large urging within him to write back or ignore the missive completely. She owed him _nothing_ and yet she needed escape.

Ulfric – a man she long swore to hate in the darkness of a cell – the leader of the rebellion that she supported. She could spurn him now but to what end? She would rather see him on the throne than an Imperial puppet. More so the prospect of Ulfric's head upon her pike still sickened her and she was wise enough now to know that no such war as theirs would end any other way.

“Curse him,” she glared at her door.

When morning came, she made her decision and finally took that carriage her mind had been threatening her with since she could stand again.


	9. Chapter 9

The carriage journeyed with the sun until all that remained of it was a cresting against the horizon. The bravado which had so easily filled her those many miles away was beginning to fade as her gaze fell upon the ever-glistening city. In the cart with nothing save her thoughts to occupy herself she had picked at her reasoning. Why had she come here? If she truly needed escape than it could be found anywhere. 

Riften was a prime example. She had a home there, good friends and it wasn’t _that_ dangerous. Anwen shook her head. Trading in one home for another was hardly what she had wanted from this escape. What she yearned for was to be free once more. _So why return to the place of your former cage?_

Every so often the carriage would hit a rock and she would be jolted and pain would lance through either her leg or chest. It was more a reminder of Farkas’ advice that she should not leave yet. It was perhaps foolish to come here but it was done now and she did not wish to dwell for it was a never-ending spiral.

When Anwen dismounted the carriage every part of her ached from the stillness of sitting. The driver offered her a hand that she had little choice than to accept, wobbling as she stood of her own volition. The driver looked upon her dubiously.

“Perhaps the lady needs an escort into the city?” his voice was kind and the concern genuine in crinkled eyes enough for her to bite back some comment of her own ability. “It’s no bother.” 

Smiling, a little tighter than usual, she reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of septims, pressing them into his hand. “I thank you but I will be fine. The extra is for delivering such an uneventful journey.” 

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he tilted his head in thanks, pocketing the coin. “Anytime, my lady. Will you be requiring a return journey soon or-?”

_I wish I knew,_ she thought curiosity having genuinely built at what Ulfric wanted. Being the dragonborn often came with an interesting set of adventures. Instead, she shook her head. “I cannot say but if I ever need a carriage I will seek you out.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

With that she took very slow steps into Windhelm. The cool air helped her keep a level-head, focusing on each next step. It was not a long journey over the bridge and through the city but long enough that she felt the limits of her healing body make themselves known. Embarrassment might have filled her cheek when she had to stop outside the Candlehearth Inn to rest had the pain not stolen her focus. It was slowly creeping back.

It must have been twenty minutes at least that she rested, stretching her legs gently, only moving when she felt able. The walk had helped the stiffness in her gait soften but she was still very aware of her injuries, part of her mind concerned that she had as of yet not healed fully. It was not so bad that she needed a walking stick, and she was thankful of that.

There were eyes upon her as she traversed the city but they were not unkind and when whispers graced her ears they were of, “ _Dragonborn_ ,” and not, “ _whore_ ,” as she had used to fear. The tension she remembered at first entering Windhelm the last month had reduced from her main focus to something far less trivial in the back of her mind allowing her to relax and calm.

A guard nodded to her when she closed in on the Palace of the Kings, opening the door before her. Anwen did not permit her relief to show as she slipped through but the doors were heavy and old. Imagining pushing against it sent pain through the arm that Alduin’s teeth had ripped through. _You shouldn’t have come,_ she pushed back the thoughts but they persevered. _You are not ready._  

_I’m fine,_ she told herself when the door closed behind her. Gently, she took down her hood and made measured steps towards the throne. Neither Galmar nor Ulfric noticed her then, did not witness her step falter as she felt her chest clench. Closing her eyes just a moment she drew herself together and straightened forcing an air of _the_ _dragonborn_.

It was Galmar who caught her movements at last, a low-pitched forced cough that alerted the Jarl as she reached the bottom of his throne. Both sets of eyes were penetrating as she made a slight bow, just a tilt of her head, not wanting to test the strength of her core. “Jarl Ulfric,” her voice held calm and neutral.

“Dragonborn,” he returned in kind. To look at him now there was no indication of their past, no light in his eyes that she was well or anything of the sort. It was childish to think that there would be. Anwen was merely the dragonborn to him now, another tool to be used. “Thank you for joining us.”

Anwen felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her and could not keep it from her voice as she asked, “If I began ignoring summons from Jarls, I am sure it would not be long before I found myself in a cell.”

Galmar snorted and her lip twitched as she glanced to him, ignoring the anger flicker over Ulfric’s face as he stood. “Come.”

The Jarl made sure and quick steps towards the room beside the throne. A room dedicated to war. The fate of many men decided with the movement of little red and blue pins. Its companion was housed within Castle Dour. There was some humour to be found now in how easily and readily information on troops movement was made available to her.

Still she had no desire to enter such a room of death but it was the whole reason she had come. With silence she followed, a step behind her elders.

Ulfric’s gaze was encapsulated upon the image, a hand settled on either side of the table, scanning as if to find some minute change, some weakness as yet unexploited. Part of her wanted to roll her eyes. Too many treated war like a game. Many would argue it was but she did not. War cost people lives and not the lives of those playing with their pins in a map.

Not until the end anyway.

“Look at the map,” Ulfric instructed and she already was, highlighting which areas to avoid in her travels. “Tell me what you see.”

“Two parties dancing around each other,” she told him tiredly and he leapt upon her words.

“ _Exactly_. In this war skirmishes happen daily but there is greater inaction than action. The biggest change in standing was gaining Markarth and that happened behind closed doors. We need to swing this war,” Ulfric turned towards her and she felt the words and was crossing her arms before he spoke them. “We need the dragonborn.”

“No.”

Ulfric's gaze narrowed and she felt Galmar set his shoulders, as if ready to declare, ‘ _I told you so.’_ Anwen was almost disappointed he didn’t.

“People die daily and yet your response is but one syllable. Please explain to me what is so important that you would allow this death to ring on indefinitely?”

Exactly as they were meant to, she felt the bite in his words. It forced her to take a moment, look away from his steeled righteous eyes to regain her strength.

“I am not a pawn to be moved across the field of battle. I am more than just ‘ _the_ _dragonborn’_. I am a person and _you don’t own me._ ”

It was almost the start to a dance, how gracefully he moved around the table, how quickly he came to her person. To see him towering over her might have intimidated but her blood was only awakened with renewed vigour as she stared him down. He meant to scare her? He was but a man when she had faced demons, daedra and dragons.

His voice dropped in volume and bitch, the words almost a sneer as he bared his teeth at her. “You selfish – is this petty grudge of yours worth the war?”

“Petty?” she spat back at him straightening despite the burn in her leg, chest and arm. “You think it is only a grudge against your actions stilling my hand? I _despise_ you for what you did.”

Anwen nearly toppled forwards at his sudden withdrawal, eyes tight on his form as if he were a wild beast deciding when to strike. He was thinking and quick as he was he needed time. Perhaps he had not realised the depths of her rage or maybe he had not thought her hurt. Her hand clenched and unclenched as she waited.

Finally, he huffed a laugh, stilling a step away to no doubt glare upon the wall. “You insult my name, hate me and for what? I did nothing that you did not already do yourself!”  

“I never would have gone to the Legion if not for you. I had no idea what I was getting into!”

“You knew well enough,” he growled back spinning on her and walking forwards so that she had force but to go backwards. “I played no part in your capture, that was your own fool fault!”

“Fool am I?” she laughed bitterly. “Only for believing in your cause. Only for believing in _you_.”

There was no way to have predicted how her words enraged himself. Grey eyes ignited as he stepped towards her. The action, so simple, grasping her arms as if to shake her instead tore her in half.  A gasp escaped her as she was lifted from the ground and as he squeezed his hands, whatever purpose he had, a scream of agony rang forth from her throat that cut them both down. In one instant she felt the world tip around her, blackening around the edges and nausea rolled through her. From one moment to the next, the world had tipped and the pain was pulling her under.

There were words, sounds perhaps, but she could not respond. Her vision was gone and her mind followed after, her last memory that of the cold floor against her cheek.


	10. Chapter 10

Darkness did not claim her for long before she gasped for breath, eyes burning and pain coursing first, through her still-bruised skin, and second, her leg from the awkward position in which she had landed. It could have been hours that had passed but she knew she would not have been left on the floor for such time, instead deciding that the pain that led her consciousness away had rescinded enough for her senses to return not long after. The throbbing ache of agony still kept her hostage as she tried in vain to push herself up.

The strength in her good arm allowed her to hold herself but the moment she tried pressure on her injured arm it buckled and it was only then that she became aware of a warm liquid seeping beneath the cloth of her robes. Anwen forced herself to remain still not wanting to undo a week of rests work in a moment of folly. She knew her limits if nothing else. Well. She thought she had before that day. Instead she turned her attention to her surroundings, try as her body might to stop her with its constant throbbing.

Words were being spoken and she tried to lift her head to focus on them but the world began to topple once more, her stomach rolling against her that she quickly gave up. Instead listening to the words, trying to focus on the muddled sounds.

“- can’t leave her there, Ulfric.”

Anwen recognised the low thrum of Galmar’s words and wasn’t sure how to feel about them. She had never seen eye-to-eye with the old bear but from what she could gather he was speaking on her behalf.

“- injuries. You didn’t grip her that hard.” 

“What would you have _me_ do?”

“Take her upstairs –“

“I doubt trying to touch her again is a good idea –“

“Have her taken upstairs. Get Wuunferth to look her over.”

“Do as you must,” the Jarl growled and Anwen flinched as heavy steps were made, glad they did not come close to her. The nausea mingled with pain had forced her eyes shut, her only awareness of Galmar’s approach by that of resigned footsteps that came towards her.

The man hesitated only a minute before crouching down and carefully lifting her, one arm beneath her knees, the other cradling her torso. The whimper that escaped her at the touch of her leg humiliated her as she blinked past her tears to the sight of an old, familiar bear helm.

Galmar did not look down as he carried her, gaze never wavering from the path before him. If it weren’t for how carefully he held her, how slow and measured his steps were, then she might think him callous to her predicament. Instead she found a small measure of privacy in his actions, allowing her to try and pull herself together. It was a hard task. With her good arm favouring her weak, a hand over the point of injury to protect it from the slight jostling of Galmar’s body, there was no way to wipe the tears from her eyes or cheeks.

Nor was she able to fully gather her thoughts, mind teetering on the edge between consciousness and not as he took her into an empty room upstairs. It was too much effort to try and discern which as he moved, instead quickly ascertaining that it was not Ulfric’s before her mind gave up on that thought.

The old bear treated her as if she were porcelain as he gently lowered her down onto soft sheets and came back with water. She accepted as he held the cup for her, not trusting her arms not to betray her if she moved them. At first she took gentle sips but when her stomach accepted the offering she drank more heavily, glad that the world ceased in its insistent spinning and with heavy breaths slowing, she could almost start to see clearly through the pain.

It was still another few minutes before she recognised the room as one for important guests, could make out some of the furnishings. There were pale eyes upon her every movement and when she turned her gaze to his he helped her sit, moving the pillows to support her. It was more kindness than she could have expected.

“Where are your injuries?”

His voice was pressing but it was still a request and not a demand as he crouched by her side. Even in that position he was taller than her.

“Where aren't they?” She replied bitingly but regretted it immediately. He had not done this to her and did not deserve her ire. Rather than rise to it, Galmar waited and she sighed closing her eyes and dropping her head backwards. “I have been healed as much as my body can take. Trust me when I say no magic will fix me more than time at this point.”

“I should have Wuunferth take a look anyway,” Galmar straightened and looked towards the door. “Will you consent?”

“I feel I have little choice.”

It was said with a tilt of her lip. A raise that was immediately dashed at the sound of a roar, not of beast, elsewhere in the palace. With a wry look at the door, Galmar told her honestly. “Probably not.”

“Go then.”

The man did. With a last glance over her, whether to try and judge her injuries or something else, he left her alone in this room. It was warmer than the outside, a fire going but the cool night air did not cease as it batted against the old walls of the palace, a small portion making its way through the cracks and into her bones. She shivered and her body shook in protest. With nothing but time she took stock of what she could feel.

The tissue of her arm muscle, still knitting together had felt like it had been torn anew. Her leg would not stop trembling but she did not think she was bleeding there at least. The myriad of scrapes and cuts she had gained had been stitched and healed prior to her arrival. It was only the worst of her injuries that still plagued her. The force in Ulfric's hands taunted her. It should not have been enough to reopen her wounds. Had she fallen on it worse than she thought? Or had her skin just not woven back together as it ought?

Both options puzzled her. Thankfully not for long as there was a knock upon her door only a few minutes later. Without meaning, she tensed as she called for the other to enter. Her voice came out more ragged than she had thought. Anwen, laying on that bed, unable to even stand felt weaker than she had in a very long time and it was a sensation that did not sit well with her.

The door opened to the sight of an elderly mage. Although, he had always been old. His eyes fell upon her as he glanced around and recognition danced within them.

The mage came forwards and bowed his head in respect. “Arch-mage,” he greeted and she sighed a small laugh wanting and willing to focus on anything that wasn’t the spasms that came over her in waves with pain.

“Of all my titles, I feel that is the least used.”

Wuunferth smiled at that, a chuckle in his step. “I remember the younger girl who often came looking in my stores for her supplies too alas I prefer to greet the woman before me now and not the girl you were then.”

“Thank you, Wuunferth. And I truly am sorry for stealing all you Imp stool. It was difficult to find and it always seemed to be what Sadri's store ran out of.”

Wuunferth had a reputation in Windhelm. Some thought him a necromancer, a dabbler in dark forbidden magic, other’s just thought he was a grouchy old mage with too many years under his belt. Anwen knew a different side. The side of the man who had stood beside his Jarl through thick and thin, who had offered his assistance to the city whenever he was able.

“That's quite alright. I was just doing my duty to the arch mage, before she was one. Now what's this commotion that has me dragged here at this time of night? Galmar told me you were injured.”

“Most have been healed as much as they can be,” she repeated what she felt she had already said a hundred times but still held out her hand. He took it silently as she stood, left leg still quaking. “Though a second opinion wouldn't hurt.”

Wuunferth gave her the support she needed as she shrugged out of her robe, boots and breeches. It might have embarrassed some to be sat before a man in naught but her smalls and breast band but she had little qualms with that, even now. She had learnt long ago not to feel shame for her own flesh.

Wuunferth, for his part was silent as she undressed and only then did he look at her, head shaking with unease at the many scars she now bore. “Lay down,” he told her and first he studied her leg. The colour was slowly starting to fade but the injury troubled her greatly and she bit down her whimper as he pressed fingers into the muscle. When his hand strayed down to her knee, where the jagged scar was she could not contain the gasp.

“Sorry, sorry,” he shook his head. “The skin is indeed healed but the muscle bruising is deep. What did this?”

“A meteor,” she told him, eyes tightly shut as the pain rolled over her in waves.

“Divines,” the word was murmured in shock. “What's under the bandages?”

“Help me sit?”

He did and she began to unravel the fabric. There were lots of deep gouges from where Alduin had caught her body with his talons and thrown her back when she ventured too close too soon. Around them were many bruises. The broken ribs had been fixed first. He prodded carefully and made an unhappy noise.

“This one looks infected. I'll make you a potion for it.”

“Thank you.”

At last he turned to her shoulder and unravelled the bandage, eyes darkening as red had stained through the first few layers. There were two wounds on opposite sides of her muscle where he had sunk his teeth in and the scabbing over one of them had ripped off entirely. What remained was muscle damage like the rest. She was sitting, head drooped as she bit her lip through the pain, facing the fireplace. The long line of her back facing the door as Wuunferth sat in a chair pulled close to the bed.

His fingers were cold and gentle but his prods often left her gasping. When his finger touched along the raised lines and pushed down she called out again, agony cutting through her as she forced her mouth shut and ignored the tears.

“This will need a salve applied, a heat salve that won't be comfortable but will help. And I can try something to help this knit together properly given time to prepare it.” Wuunferth was telling her in a gentle voice. There was a light click of the door behind her and she did not pay it attention, squeezing her hand and focusing on that. 

It was not until Wuunferth stood, that she realised someone had entered. “This is a medical examination, you should not be intruding.”

“ _Talos_ , what has happened to you?”

The words were spoken with raw shock and Anwen turned at the voice. There were tears streaked down her face, and blood along her lips from the many times she had bitten down upon it. She was bare save the modesty allowed by her small clothes and though he had seen her in less many times before, she felt more exposed under his critical gaze than ever before. It was all she could do to turn around and not shrink in further on herself, focusing on the fire.

“Jarl Ulfric, I have to insist that you leave.”

“I have a right to speak to those under my roof and under my care,” he bit back but his tone waivered. There was none of his usual pig-headed assuredness as he spoke then.

“And you may, when I am done and when she is _decent_.”

“I -” there was a heavy sigh and she almost turned but kept her gaze on the flicker of fire. “I apologise. If you need anything -” the Jarl didn't finish his sentence. “I will speak to you later, Wuunferth.”

“Excellent,” the old man drawled but the word was followed by a click of a door that relaxed the tense line of her back. Wuunferth returned and there were many more tears lining her face when she glanced up at him. “I am truly sorry about that.”

“Not more than I,” she whispered, voice caught.

The elder mage sighed. “I will ready what I can and bring it to you when it is ready. You should rest, Arch-mage.”

She turned and collected his hand, squeezing it a little. “Could you pass me a tunic? There should be one in my pack.”

Wuunferth did her the one last favour before leaving and Anwen would have crawled into a ball if she could, instead she took the one sleeping draught left in her bag and drank it. The thought of letting her brain free reign combined with the pain she felt was too much.

She had only just finished the bottle when it fell from her grasp and she collapsed onto her bed for one thankfully dreamless sleep.

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

The room was empty when she woke, a cursotary glance around telling her such. Anwen had no idea what to expect from the Palace of the Kings and considered just laying around for longer. She felt better but anything was an improvement on how she had felt the day previous, an unholy mix of pain, fear and open. It was daytime judging by the golden glistening light that made it between the rocks. The more she considered the room, the more she recalled of the previous night and the more she yearned to get away.

 _Better to find out your limits now, than on the battlefield,_ she reminded herself and sighed. It was a mistake to come here. Fundamentally, she wasn't opposed to helping the Stormcloaks. If she was going to throw her lot in with anyone it was going to be them but she was vehemently opposed to their leader, insufferable bastard that he was.

She went to stand and felt that it was a small victory when her left leg held her weight. Moving around she studied the room in full detail having not been in the frame of mind to do it before. The walls were stone, the floors wooden and there was no great surprise that the light was in small supply. It had always been so in the Palace. The room housed all the essentials; a bed, a wardrobe, a desk with some chairs and a bedside table which now she looked upon held a variety of different bottles and tubs.

Picking up the note on the side, she smiled when she read it,

_Arch-mage,_

_As promised these salves should help with your injuries._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Wuunferth_

What followed after was a set of instructions that were rather precise but she followed them well, gritting her teeth as she rubbed the salve first on the inflamed skin under her ribs and then again on her arm which caused an involuntary gasp. The heat salve was worst and her good-leg shook violently as she spread it evenly as directed. Sweat coated her forehead when she fastened the lid back to the salve and set it down.

It took a lot longer than she'd have liked to get ready but simple things like breeches and boots became much more difficult with one leg quaking and an arm doing the same. She studied her pack in the corner and contemplated trying to leave. What was the chance of that though? Ulfric couldn't keep her but he could make her life damn difficult if she tried.

Perhaps if she could avoid _him_ , then this would be easier.

When a sharp knock rang against her door she cursed under her breath wondering if she had somehow summoned him with her thoughts. “Who is it?”

“Galmar,” the gruff voice replied and she felt relief.

“The door's open.”

She still wasn't ready, stood before the basin, but she was dressed though not completely. Her war paint was still in her bag, the remnants of her last application currently lying in the basin and on the towel she had just dried with. Her hair was down too. Longer than she liked, between thoughts of leaving, she had been considering taking her dagger to it but didn't entirely trust her good hand at the moment.

Galmar stepped inside and blinked as she turned to him, looking as though he'd seen a ghost. “Now that's a face I never thought I'd see again.”

She scowled and tried to quickly but her hair up but with her arm quaking, leg protesting and ribs clenching she gave it up and hobbled over to the table and took a seat. Galmar brought himself in further and sat opposite her.

It was surprisingly civil. Especially given Galmar's strong dislike of her in the past. He had never taken her services and didn't seem to mind what she provided until Ulfric. After that it was nothing but glares, scowls and muttering under his breath.

“You look like you,” he told her plainly gesturing to her face. “Old you. I prefer the paint.” 

She laughed at that despite herself. She was too tense, too frayed. “So do I but when your arm won't stop wobbling it's a bit difficult.”

Galmar gave a nod to that. “Wuunferth told us about your injuries today. Said he didn't know what all of them were from but the words 'bite' and 'claw' came up a few times. Bit bigger than human teeth too.”

She smirked at that and let her guard down a little. She could talk about her injuries, of her fight with Alduin. “A meteor landed on my leg and broke it. I was bitten in the arm as I delivered the killing blow, Alduin's final act as it were, and he grabbed me with his talons and threw me a while before that.”

“And your arm is the worst?”

“Let's just say it's a good thing I have magic because I won't be raising a sword or drawing my bow for a good while yet.”

There was sympathy in the elder grey eyes at that. Not pity but understanding from one warrior to the next. “Wuunferth said it was a matter of healing with time.”

“I did say, if you recall.”

“Aye, I do,” Galmar shifted, eyes flickering around the room.

The peace was nice but there was a reason Galmar was here and it was not restricted to asking about her health. As loath as she was to bring him up, she needed to know what her next move was. In her mind she knew that the ride back to Whiterun was too much but Riften was closer, Winterhold closer still. Having a fleet of mages look after her wouldn't be the worst thing.

“Ulfric sent you,” she stated it because it was a fact and Galmar nodded to confirm. “What does he want?”

The old bear sighed and rubbed at his temple. It wasn't the first time that they'd argued about her, she knew, apparently now it wouldn't be the last. “Ulfric has gotten it into his head that you should stay until you're healed.”

She frowned immediately and it was matched by Galmar. “If you want to know why you can ask him. I hope you like this room, you'll be here a while.”

“And if I choose to leave?”

“Then you're a bigger fool than he,” he told her plainly. “It took one press to your arm and you were out for the count. It's not safe to be out on your own like that. It's hospitality he's offering you.”

“Because I'm the dragonborn,” she guessed. No one else could shout at Ulfric like that and live, let alone be given leave to stay inside the Palace of the Kings. He wanted her on side, that much was obvious. Galmar didn't answer her though, instead standing up.

“I'll let you finish getting ready. You know your way around if you need anything.”

The door clicked shut and she dropped her head to the table. Galmar was right. Even carriage journeys could hit problems. If a dragon swooped down there'd be nothing she could do about it. She wished that she'd stayed in Whiterun. At least there Jorrvaskr was around the corner. Here it was just pained memories.

Steadying herself, she stood and after pulling a seat to a mirror she set about reapplying her war paint and braiding her hair before placing it up in a bun. It was pathetic that she was all but panting at the end of that, cementing her case for staying.

Idly, she wondered if a letter to the companions wouldn't bring Farkas and Aela out to escort her home. It was just folly though. They had jobs to be doing and she'd only be taking them away from that.

When her stomach began to protest she finally stood, albeit shakily and recognised where she was. A glance to her left and she could see the rise that would lead to Ulfric's chambers. She hated that they were so close but ignored that in favour of food. The stairs were hard, she remembered as she was in the narrow passage.

A guard passing gave her a look, was clearly about to offer assistance a glower sent him on his way. There was a difference between feeling weak and wanting to appear. Her choices on that might be limited but she would through everything she had to a fight if she needed to and that mattered. The passage led out to the war room and she just wanted her bad luck to end when she saw the foreboding figure leant over the table.

She'd expected to see him on his throne. Prepared to walk past him without a glance but this was harder. With baited breath she held still but he did not look up. Galmar did.

The old warrior smiled ruefully at her and gave her the grace of not announcing her presence since she had not herself. Instead he let her hobble out of the throne room. There was plenty of food on the table but even more eyes in this room. Head held high she ignored them and kept going. Galmar was right that she knew her way around. This was no new path to her as she headed decidedly towards the kitchens.

The kitchens were the same as always, a couple of underlings running around as Sifnar barked orders. She crossed her arms and leant against one of the sides, glad she could hold herself more now as she watched the scene unfolded.

“Talos help me, when I was given you two rats to replace that old bat who left without even a 'how-do-you-do' the divines laughed at me. You two'll drive me to an early grave.”

Both the underlings mumbled out apologies but Anwen chuckled at his familiar scowl, drawing his gaze before she sobered and gave a chastising look. “Ryda died, Sifnar. It wasn't her fault she forgot to tell you a day ahead. And at this point I don't think it'd be an early grave.”

The underlings froze as Sifnar stepped forwards. “Why you little -” when he got close the scowl dropped and she closed the distance, embracing him as well as she could, given her injuries. “Ah, good to see you again, miss.”

She felt the confusion emanating from his workers and she smiled widely. “I missed you, Sifnar.” 

“They told us you died,” he stated sadly, stepping backwards and she was glad to lean back against the side. “At first when you stopped writing – my lord was in a dark place then. And after Helgen, when Ralof came back alone -”

“Sorry for scaring you, old man,” she chided gently and he shook his head at her.

“Dragonborn, isn't it now? That's what a few of the guard are saying anyway.”

Anwen nodded her head, whispering lowly, “And Anwen too, if you don't mind.”

He pursed his lips but nodded in understanding. “What brings you to my home?”

She bit her lips, “Could I be cheeky and ask for some breakfast?”

“Not enough food on that giant table for you?” he started off on a rant turning back to the hearth and not stopping there, grabbing various things from around the room and piling it onto a table. “Come here, then.”

Slowly she moved over to where he had settled it on a small table. The two awe-struck newcomers were back at work around the room as she seated herself with a little sigh, the pull of her stomach not pleasant. Sifnar didn't comment any more, leaving her to eat her fill in peace

Anwen had always liked Sifnar. Unlike some of the other members of the house he hadn't looked down on her for how she got by. It had been a surprise, with all his talk about honest work, but he was a strange old man, even when she'd first come here. They had formed a friendship when she had snuck through the kitchen in early hours of the morning or late at night, either entering or leaving. 

She thought it might have been that he started to like her when she helped out without being asked. Anwen didn't mind staying another hour to lay out the morning food or pack away the evening stuff. Often she took out a bag of leftovers when she left and gave them to any beggars that she came across.

Or he could have just liked the back-and-forth between them. Anwen wasn't sure but she was glad he held no resentment. She ate in peace and tidied up after herself. It was as she was reaching in a cupboard, and started pulling down plates for him that he shooed her away.

“They'll learn nothing if you do their job for them,” he chastised but there was mirth in his eyes. Honestly, she just hadn't wanted to leave. Getting back to her room meant returning to the throne room and meant seeing and more likely talking to Ulfric.

Rather than saying any of this though, she pouted.

“Talos help me,” he groaned before he relented. “Remember how to make bread?”

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek before moving over to the counter and grabbing an apron. It was good work that kept her mind busy, remembering the steps he'd taught her years ago. She'd known how to make bread before that but Sifnar's bread was different than that, better.

It pulled on her arm as she kneaded but she went slow enough that it wasn't too bad and she used her left whenever she needed a rest. When she was done he gave her a carefully selected job and before she knew it she'd made bread, covered the pies with pastry, washed last night’s dishes and was just sweeping the floor when her sanctuary was disturbed. 

“Dragonborn, what are you doing?” Jorleif spoke with shock as he saw her, covered with flour with a sweeping brush in her hand. “That's – you're not -” 

“Calm down, Jorleif,” Anwen rolled her eyes and swept up around him as he stood there. “I was not mean to sit idle.”

“You are meant to be resting. By the Jarl's orders!”

Sifnar made a small snort at that and she shot the man a knowing look. Sifnar cared little for the steward and if it weren’t for dealing with other people more Sifnar would likely do a better hob that Jorleif.

“I don't follow the Jarl's orders,” she replied as she finished piling up the rubbish. She wanted to collect it but bending down wasn't great. Sifnar saw, clicked his fingers and the boy underling – Groleith – took over. Anwen moved over to the seat near the hearth and started stirring dinner.

Jorleif huffed off and when he was gone, she told Sifnar, “He'll go crying to the Jarl, or Galmar.”

“Bring trouble to my kitchens, and we'll have an issue.”

“After I made you such a lovely pie?”

“I taught you how to do that, girl.”

To both their surprise, no one came to her little sanctuary. Not before or after they prepared their evening meal. Anwen made it the entire day in peace and was washing the last few plates when Sifnar smiled at her and tapped her forearm.

“Thank you,” he told her and she knew what he was saying and stopped what she was doing. She felt sore and even with frequently sitting down, she had tired herself out. She took off the apron and set it down. “I appreciate the help, Anwen.”

She nodded to him. “Least I could do. I can't promise I'll be down here showing your young ones how it's done every day though.”

He snorted a laugh. They were alone, the other two turning beds down before people started retiring. “Keep yourself in health. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Making her way up from the kitchens, her feet dragged. She had no energy to speak to Ulfric and simply did not look at the throne as she walked past. When she reached the top of the stairs she paused to catch her breath before carrying on.

Her room was unchanged when she entered and she used the lock that evening after stepping inside. She felt drained as she tried to remove her trousers and boots, failed and had to try again. She was covered in flour amongst other foods and she made a note to simply wear a belted tunic the following day.

She didn't have Lydia here to help her out of her clothes and she didn't wish to feel the embarrassment of that. Reapplying her salves as directed, she dropped into bed and let her mind go. Honest work, it was and it felt good in her bones.


	12. Chapter 12

As expected, rather than hoped, Anwen’s recovery was not a speedy one. Instead she slipped into a pattern within the palace. She would rise when her body permitted, spending a good time treating her ails before making her way to the kitchen and spending as much energy as she could muster down there.

Joreleif would scowl at her whenever he saw her there, muttering about position and decorum but whatever protests he had raised to the jarl had fallen upon deaf ears. If her energy failed, as it often did, she would take to her chambers and read. Sifnar sending either Goreith or Hide up with some food for her.

By the end of her first week, and after being at no point forced to speak with Ulfric, she was beginning to relax. The Palace itself was not unpleasant save the draft in her room that rattled her bones every night. Wuunferth was concerned with her progress though and she understood why. With the amount of magic within her bones and the power of his poultices, her injuries should have healed. Instead her energy still wavered, her legs and arms were still bruised and scarred and her ribs did not feel right.

It was after a long examination that he shook his head. “Alduin inflicted these injuries?” he questioned and she nodded affirmation. “And you healed them?”

“Yes. As much as I could at the time and potions thereafter.”

He made a noise of unhappiness at the back of his throat, pacing. “I am no true healer,” he warned. “But I think we have two options. Since your wounds have not yet healed we could wait and hope that time does not have them deteriorate further or,” when he met her gaze she saw deadly seriousness inside him. “I can reopen the wounds and heal them anew. Perhaps you missed something, Alduin poisoned you or an infection lies within the tissue. I will not know until after.”

“You want to reopen my wounds?” she stated with disbelief. “How?”

“With magic, of course. Far safer than a knife or a blade. It will hurt.”

Anwen looked down upon her legs, and tried to kick out her injured one. The pain was there. The skin still bruised, tissue swollen. “What if it makes it worse?”

“I doubt that it would. If it did, I would send you to Winterhold.”

“Leaving it alone has done nothing for me so far,” she spoke only after careful consideration. Like this she could not fight. She could barely look after herself and though her strength was slowly returning she could not guarantee when she would be healed. “Do it.”

“Are you sure?” Wuunferth pressed but he was already collecting mana potions and lining them up on the desk beside the table she leant against. “The process will not be kind and when I begin I will not be able to stop.”

“I trust you.”

“Very well, lay down.”

Anwen did as commanded, nervous when undid her robes to reveal her ribs, removing the bandages that held the salve in place. The skin didn’t look healthy, a green glow around it and yellow pus escaping some of the scabs. It pained her to touch and she gasped in surprise when he cold hands pressed down upon her ribs.

And then she felt it. She cried out, clenching her hands as fists and legs kicking out as she felt her rib crack again. She grit her teeth behind the tears as the bones moved beneath magical tendrils, as the scars that marred her abdomen became wounds once more. She felt warmth trail down her stomach and the world threatened to give out 

“Almost done,” he promised but his words were muffled and she focused on breathing. As quick as it was started, the bone had reset, but the skin was harder. She felt every inch of her skin as fibres began to reknit like a thousand tiny daggers.

Wuunferth moved back, grabbing a blue bottle and downing the contents. He moved to the desk and came back with a wet cloth, wiping it over her skin, it was red when he moved it away.

“The healing will continue for a while. I’ve given the instructions as it were and your own magic will keep it going.”

Anwen nodded, unable to speak. It felt like movement would tear the fibres of her skin apart once more and so she remained laying for many minutes, the gruelling sensation of her skin knitting together like pinpricks along her abdomen. Eventually she needed to move, turning on her side and bending her legs but trying to keep her abdomen flat. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the table, teeth tight and eyes clenched as she breathed.

Wuunferth was talking to himself as he made some other potion and part of her wanted to snap at him but the noise gave her something to focus on. Anwen layr like that for an unknown time, agony coming in waves amongst the pain. Occasionally a question was directed at her as she burned but it was mainly inane chatter.

“Do you wish to drink a health poultice?” he called to her and she was counting down in her head a minute, hoping it wouldn't be much more than that before the needles ceased. “It might numb the pain.”

“It might but I don’t want it to interfere with what you have done. I can bear it.”” she gritted out and she heard footsteps in the room, the door opening.

When no response came, no further insistence, she opened her eyes. Surprise coloured her through the pain at the sight before her; Wuunferth glaring down his jarl, Galmar stood to the side behind them. It took a lot to stand up to Ulfric, Anwen thought with untold respect for the mage.

“Wuunferth,” Ulfric greeted but his voice was tight. “Reports reach my ear of screams. Sounds of torture-”

A sharp inhale and Galmar’s hand landed upon Ulfric’s shoulder, drawing his attention to where she lay. The jarl made quick steps towards her and she closed her eyes as his hand brushed against her tender skin.

“This blood is fresh,” Ulfric spoke with derision and accusation, turning to the mage. “What have you done?”

“I am trying to heal her,” Wuunferth responded unwaveringly as he stepped around the jarl, holding a poultice.

Ulfric grabbed Wuunferth’s hand before he could reach her. “Explain yourself, _now_.”

Wuunferth sighed and turned to face Ulfric. “Of course, my jarl. Anwen’s injuries were not healing some of them were infected. The sounds you heard were no doubt when I reopened her wounds.”

“Talos, why would you do that?” Galmar asked eyes scanning the room no doubt for a bloodied weapon.

“To flush out the infection.”

“I agreed to this,” Anwen spoke on an exhale.

“Is there more to be done?” Ulfric demanded still holding onto the mage’s hand.

“No. The skin is knitting together as we speak. The pain you see now is from that.”

Ulfric turned to consider her and she tried to hold his gaze, would have kept it had not her body shook and she closed her eyes through the pain.

“How long?”

“A few more minutes. Ten at most. Residual aches may last hours.”

“And have you nothing to relieve the pain?”

“A poultice may interfere.”

“What about mead?” Galmar offered. “Something to take the edge away?”

“I had not considered –“ Wuunferth began but was overridden by Ulfric who let his arm down but still formed a barrier between the two of them.

“Galmar, take her back to her room and get her something stronger than mead. I need to speak to Wuunferth.”

“Ulfric,” Anwen tried to argue but he kept his back to her. Stubborn fool. She didn’t understand why it mattered to him anyway. Her view was blocked by Galmar. He threw her robes back around her torso, giving her back her decency, and lifted her without preamble, one arm beneath her leg the other to support her back. She was getting rather tired of being carried around.

They left the room and she focused on breathing. The pain was dying down. Slowly. Not like the agony she had felt when he reopened her wounds.

Galmar was silent as he walked down one staircase and back up another. She felt eyes upon her as they moved through the main hall but none tried to stop her. Her thoughts kept turning back to Ulfric. What had he to discuss with Wuunferth? Out of the two she certainly trusted the mage more.

The route was familiar too them both and Galmar ordered one of the guards to open the door for him. He set her down upon her bed and glanced around her room.

“I’ll be back with something,” Galmar told her and she just counted until he returned.

She was in the low hundreds when the door opened and she raised her head.

“Ulfric?” she asked and he was carrying a bottle, Galmar nowhere to be seen. He shut the door behind him and she felt unease trickle down her spine. His eyes were cold as he looked down upon her.

Anwen was unable to break her gaze from his as he walked towards her and sat upon the bed. He uncorked the bottle and she sat up as best she could, his hand resting on the back of her head to support her as he brought the bottle to her lips.

It was smooth but it burned, more potently that the mead or ale she usually drank. When her eyes widened, he moved back to let her gasp before offering it to her again. She swallowed four of five mouthfuls before raising her hand in protest. Ulfric set the bottle down, recorking it. Her mind was already swimming.

“What was that?”

“A speciality skooma,” he told her simply letting her drop back down onto the bed. “I will leave the bottle here for you and place a guard at your door. If you feel worse, call and your injuries will be seen to.

“What did you say to Wuunferth?”

“Nothing to worry yourself over. He will check in on you tomorrow.”

She bristled. She deserved to know and would have pushed if not for the heavy feel growing in her limbs. That stuff truly was powerful.  

“I will take my leave,” he stood and she hadn’t quite expected it. Wasn’t sure what she had expected. The door shut and she clenched her eyes shut. Not sure how to think or what to feel. Physical pain was easier than the emotions she felt whenever she spoke to Ulfric.

Thankfully, she had plenty of the latter to occupy her mind.

\-----

 

The one saving grace of her torturous night was that when she awoke and lifted the dress up she was greeted by the smooth expanse of her chest. There was no indication that she had ever been injured. Wuunferth had a few tricks up his sleeve, she decided as she went about getting dressed. Perhaps he should but better faith in his abilities as a healer.

The skooma had helped her, the pain lessening not long after she had gotten back to her room. Her room that was still empty and untouched. The only reminder of the events of last night being the bottle he had placed upon her night stand. She felt that her ability to award the jarl had perhaps come to an end.

It still left her arm and her leg, although her arm felt closest to healing on its own. She knew that would mean another session as it were but it would be worth it for a speedy recovery. Even with healing though, she felt that the muscle had little strength anymore, particularly in her arm. She would need to train before heading out or face being thrown about like that again.

Anwen was half-way through washing when a knock sounded against her door. Pausing with water on her hand to splash her face, she finished the action before calling out.

“It’s open.”

Wuunferth appeared, a small bag in his hand and she dried her face with a towel, lowering it in time to see another enter.

“Jarl Ulfric insists that he be present,” Wuunferth spoke with thinly veiled dislike. “For your safety.”

She did not question as he motioned her over to her bed. Anwen undid her robe before she sat, allowing the mage to poke along the line of her lower ribs. His own surprise at the lack of marking mirrored hers.

“Remarkable.”

“Certainly,” she smiled back at Wuunferth but it faded before she set her eyes upon Ulfic. “Although, it still leaves my leg and arm.”

“If you feel up to it, we can do those later today,” Wuunferth turned to the jarl. “You may wish to inform your guards ahead of time to save you a trip.”

“I will,” the jarl stood, a long glance spent over Anwen. “When you are recovered and rested, come to the war room. We have things to discuss.”

When the door shut, shaking slightly in the frame, she lifted a brow to Wuunferth, questioning.

“There were vague threats to my health should I have injured you further,” Wuunferth shrugged. “His presence was to assure that I hadn’t.”

“The Jarl is a strange man,” she told him, slipping her robe back around her.

“He is just the same as any other,” Wuunferth told her as he stood. “Come to me when you’re ready. I can’t promise it will be any easier than last time.”

“At least I’ll be able to go sooner now,” she spoke mostly to herself but Wunnferth caught her eye and there was doubt in there about that too. With an empty room, she finished getting dressed, forgoing the war paint knowing that it would only run when she went to see Wuunferth.

She wasn’t remotely happy to be correct.


	13. Chapter 13

The wounds had been healed and all that remained was a slight pain from lack of use. That she no longer felt agony to stretch was bliss. It had taken Wuunferth two days to finish everything off and on the third she was ready to leave 

If she thought that she could have slunk of into the night, she would have, but she was aware that she did owe thanks to the Jarl. Whether she wanted to give it or not, he had offered her shelter and the use of his court mage for her injuries. Still she did not rush to the Jarl’s side to pass along her thanks, instead planning to spend the day preparing for her journey and leaving when she had already booked passage back to Whiterun.

As usual, she ate in the kitchens with Sifnar, Goreleith and Hilde, was saying her goodbyes when Jorleif entered. The way he held his head spoke of trouble. “Jarl Ulfric has asked for your presence in the war room.”

Rather than protest, she bowed her head and followed the steward out. It would not kill her to be brought to the Jarl rather than going to him. In fact, she felt a little more at ease doing so. The war room was a stern place, matched in intensity only by the owner. Ulfric was leaning over his war map once more. Alone.

Galmar’s absence was rare though not unheard of. The bear was Ulfric’s general and must have duties away from the Jarl, though the pair always seemed within touching distance of one another.

“As requested,” Jorlief announced their arrival making a hasty departure. Anwen rolled her eyes at the man always having thought him without the backbone of those around him. When she returned her gaze to Ulfric, he had straightened. Their eyes met and silence descended over them. She felt her spine straighten involuntarily but they kept their distance.

Eventually, Ulfric sighed and relaxed. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she admitted testing her arm, straightening and curling it. The freedom of movement was a blessed thing. Never before had she been so injured. Not even when she had been an Imperial captive. “And I thank you for your suggestion. The drink helped.”

“A warrior’s pain relief,” he told her eyes growing distance. No doubt recalling his own time in the last great war. Anwen knew more than most, having eagerly listened to Ulfric’s tales whenever he deigned to tell her such. Thinking back now, it made her thankful for her magic. As much as she trusted Lydia, she wasn’t sure she’d want to have the Nord close her wound with only a bottle of what was available to ease the pain. “You suffered greatly to end a dangerous threat.”

His words pulled her back to the present. This was the Jarl talking, not Ulfric. It was a subtle difference that she had first noticed only months after their first meeting. Whatever he had brought her here for was not truly about her injuries.

She inclined her head towards him.

“But there is another great threat threatening Skyrim still,” Ulfric continued and Anwen wasn't quite expecting it and laughed, short and dying quicker at his glare.

“Of course, you are still trying to recruit me,” she shook her head entirely unsurprised even if she had been caught by it. “The dragonborn's support would lend great credence to you in the war. Maybe gain you more men too?”

“I had your support once,” he told her levelly.

“And look where that got me.”

“You don't seem so grieved standing before me now, dragonborn.”

“I am no longer in a cell,” she told him swiftly and then smirked. “Or at least, not quite.”

Ulfric sighed dramatically and leant back on his war table. “You are no prisoner here. You know this.”

“Do I?” she paced. It was to calm the nerves she felt rising and didn’t care if he could see through that. “I have very little inclination to become your puppet again.”

“And what of the people who are suffering? You yourself have seen the brutality of the Imperials.”

Anwen felt aged when she spoke next, “I have felt that on both sides of this war,” she glanced to the spot where he had grabbed her and crippled her.

“I did not mean to cause you pain,” his voice dropped low, so only she could hear it, no chance of anyone in the hall hearing his words. “Had I known of your injuries -”

“You'd have what? Just shouted at me more?”

“You are impossible,” he declared and shook his head. “You are not the woman that I once knew.”

“No,” she rose to that, head lifted high even as her body remained seated. “She died in a dark, cold dungeon, left to rot by those claiming to have her back.” 

“We did not know you still lived!” his voice was low and dangerous a frantic edge to it she didn’t want to recognise. “We did not know if you had deserted. Your messages simply ceased. What would you have me do?”

“Did you search for me at all? Send a message to anyone?”

Ulfric's jaw clenched and it was all the answer that she needed. Bitterness filled her and stole her tongue away from her mind, saying her piece from a yearlong grudge. “I gave everything I could to you, gave my body to your cause, placed my trust in you, loved you, and you left me to rot.”

Anwen froze as the words left her lips. If she could have gone back then, she would have slapped a hand over her mouth ahead of time to prevent those words escaping her lips. The words were free and she watched the change from frustration to pity and that was worse than anything he could have said to her. She did not need or want his pity.

It took all the strength that she had not to simply run away then and there. Instead she steadied herself as best she could, closed her mouth to gather her thoughts. There would be no end to this war, not soon. Divines help her, this was not where she had expected to be standing. “I have no respect for you, Ulfric and certainly no desire to work for you but,” she steeled her resolve and pushed away her personal gripes, moving forwards to lean on his desk to show him the strength of the dragonborn. “I believe in your cause. I will help in your blasted war but I will swear no fealty to you and do not wish to speak to you ever again.”

Ulfric stood unmoving, a statue of muscle and human-forged steel. His eyes were not on her but the table before her. She saw the quiver in his shoulders, the rage lining him and she turned to leave. If he did not want her help, she would not give it.

At the door he growled, “Speak to Galmar about joining.”

Nodding to herself, she heard a door slam behind her and winced. She had expected to feel better for telling him how she felt but instead there was nothing but an empty hole inside her chest. Stealing herself, she moved forwards to where Galmar was sitting at the table. She had committed to this now; she would see it through.


	14. Chapter 14

Galmar made no protest at her request which she had not expected. Joining the Stormcloak’s was something that she had considered multiple times but actually putting weight behind her thoughts was different. This was a commitment, a commitment to a side which had burned her before. Honestly, she had no idea what she was doing. Deep down she agreed more with Ulfric’s ideals. The Empire was weak and the Aldermi Dominion was constantly pushing. To stay was to surrender, to tie their fates alongside any the Empire’s as the Dominion slowly pushed for true control – and that was certainly not a world she wanted to live in. 

But to become a Stormcloak? To align herself in a war she had been content and eager to keep out of? Divines, she had no idea if this was a good thing. The war wasn’t going anywhere fast, people were dying needlessly, the war needed an end – all those arguments swam around her head but the doubt remained. It wasn’t a doubt of her side but the leader. Ulfric had hurt her and months in a cell at the hands of those she had been stealing information made that cut a jagged-edged scar, still tender to touch.

Galmar put her through her paces, claiming he wanted to make sure she was up to the standards of his men but there was little doubt of that. None of them could take down a dragon single-handily. Realistically, it was to pull her back to shape. She had been recovering and it did not take long to lose the finely tuned edge she had honed the last year.

In this time, the week at the barracks, being pushed and trained in a way she never had been before – she did not see or hear from the jarl. There were no demands, requests or suggestions that she should talk to him and it helped. It helped to know that she was there for a purpose without her past looming over her.

Anwen could not fault Galmar’s leadership as felt her strength return, enjoyed the simplicity of a scheduled training day even if she felt a bone-deep exhaustion every evening. There was, by design, no time for her to help out in the kitchens. When Galmar had witnessed her take down five of his men on her own, he nodded to himself.

She had been pushed further than the men who she trained with. A perk of being the dragonborn.

Galmar sent her to the Serpent Stone, located in the frigid north, with nothing but her own skill to kill an ice wraith. Considering his education, she found the task a little lack-lustre but complied. It gave her the freedom to do the things that she had pushed aside; collecting Onyx, settling things with the Companions and Lydia until she was next available.

Her housecarl had wanted to come but Anwen wanted the time alone. After so long in the city, so long surrounded by people, she needed her independence back. Her horse was her most trusted companion, had been with her through thick and thin – recently more of the former. It was good to find herself free of the expectations of people, content for it just to be her and her trusted horse. Anwen could not hold it against the steed that she had once been a present from Ulfric. Her parting gift upon agreeing to be sent away. It was a small miracle that she was still in her possession – she had to thank the stable master Banning for not selling the horse on when she failed to return for her. Anwen couldn’t even begrudge the thousand septims he charged for the beast to be released to her after so long looking after her.

It took the best part of two weeks to get up to the stone, killed a wraith and make it back. It would have been far easier to simply hand across a wraith’s tooth from the selection in her pack and sit in a tavern that time but she knew it wasn’t in the spirit of things. The fight was good, exhilarating even, although not as much as the dragon that ambushed her on her return to the city.

Anwen was getting proud of the speed in which she could take the beasts down, not even batting an eye as she salvaged anything from value and headed back. She wasn’t sure what she expected – a warm, opening welcome the last on her mind – but it was not what she had received.

It was not different until she was within the walls of the palace. The lack of the jarl upon his throne redirected her to the war room. She did not have to journey too close before the sounds of the argument began to filter out.

It was clear who it was about.

“ - she has to take the oath, Ulfric! Or else what good is it having her on our side?”

“It's non-negotiable. Try and force it on her and she will simply leave.”

“Then let her go!”

“ _No!”_ the word was spoke with venom and anger and stayed her hand from entering, had her hand reflexively recoil from the wood. She was more than happy to give a piece of her mind but she had not expected that tone. It was not something she wanted to face directly. The jarl's voice had dropped lower immediately, almost bartering as he said, “She never took the oath before and she served us well. That information she gathered saved a lot of lives.”

“Whoring around for information is one thing, but I want to know that I can trust the person who's standing behind me with a blade!” Galmar shouted and it hit her, she couldn't deny the little chink in her armour for those she considered friends and she was reminded that wasn't the case. “What reason could she have for _not_ taking the oath? She was gone a long time, Ulfric, and she's no Nord. What is it about her that has you so willing to bend the rules? Before I could see some appeal -”

Blood boiled quick enough for her to have been Nord.

Her mind had little sway of her body as she burst through the door. Both men tensed and turned to her but she paid them little mind, throwing down the wraith’s teeth on the table. “Fuck your oath, fuck your war and go fuck each other!”

It spoke of their shock that not a word was said, or perhaps more her speed as she retreated. Anger and rage carried her back the way that she had come and no one dared pause her with the expression she had worn. It seemed that whenever she thought that she could do this, whenever she believed that enough time had passed, enough heroic deeds for them to see the women before them now, not the girl she had been before, they would remind her painstaking detail how completely untrue it all was.

Anwen was done. Alduin was dead – she did not need be more a hero than that. When destiny gave her a job she had not shied away but the folly of men was a step too far.

Such thoughts carried her onwards, out towards the stables, forwards as affixed her pack on her horse’s saddle. Anwen was about to mount when reason forced its way back through.

“Damn it all!” she called out, pounding the side of the stables and startling the horse beside Onyx.

Although she still had her pack on her, there were more of her belongings inside the room that had housed her those past weeks than she had on her then. Most of it she would gladly write off but there was enough of personal value that she didn’t want to lose it. She had lost enough already.

Onyx neighed and moved his head to her side and she clung to him, silently letting her tears fall. Why did it matter to her what they thought? The truth stared her in the face but she buried it like she buried her tears in Onyx’s mane. W _hy do I keep going back?_

_Because I know which side I want to be on._

_Because I still care._

Whatever quick escape she had been planning fled with increasing speed each moment she remained attached to her horse. As anger was replaced by pain and pain eventually replaced by reason. Reason might be there but she didn’t face it yet. When the tears dried enough to see clearly, she began to groom Onyx. There wasn’t a need, Ulundil was doing a well enough job but Anwen needed a task to focus on and little other option presented itself.

The sky grew dark above her as her actions slowed. More times than could easily be counted had she worked her hands through the mane, braiding it, undoing it, only to do the same action again. When her horse ran out of patience and began to nip at her she let go.

Unable to face what lay inside the city, she instead sat down on the wall. It was a sense of déjà vu that flowed over her as she turned her gaze back onto Windhelm. It seemed her default was to run away, to protect her but where was it getting her? She felt more wounded with each repeat. There was a gentle murmur of people approaching the city but she ignored them.

Instead she spent her time staring at the ground.

“This in an unexpected surprise,” a familiar voice called from behind, far closer than she realised that the gathering had been. Anwen startled, quickly turning.

Letting out a huff of breath, she turned back around. Ralof. Why was it always Ralof? A stranger she could annoy but he was more than that. He wasn’t alone, there was a gathering around him, all dressed similarly and with blood smattering their furs. A returning mission undoubtedly.

“Anwen?”

When she refused to reply, he abandoned his men with a short excuse and leapt the wall to take his spot on the cold wall beside her. Keeping her gaze upon her hands she could not stop fiddling with them.

“For all your glory,” he spoke softly as if unsure how his words would be received. “You don't seem anywhere near as happy as when I knew you before.”

Considering her mental state whenever near Windhelm, it was probably true. Only a few times in her life she had felt great joy but there had been a contentedness within her when she first settled in the great northern city. Anwen had found herself a home, a job, and she had friends too. A place in the world for the first time. And then war had broken out and everything had changed.

“There's only one possible conclusion,” he said bumping her shoulder casually to keep her focused and in the now. Not to let her drift to her life before.

“And what's that?” her voice was hoarse and he unhooked a water skin, passing it along without a comment. She drank deeply not worried that he would die of thirst between here and the barracks. The cool liquid did wonders for her throat but also told her how badly it ached. She had neglected the needs of her body for hours now. To think that she would have gladly gotten onto her horse and ridden with depleted reserves. It spoke ill of her ability to reason around Ulfric.

“That without the joy of tumbling with me in the evenings, you feel incomplete.”

She snorted out a laugh that surprised her and he joined in with it. Ulundil had lit a torch outside not long ago that cast shadows around them, a warm golden hue that was comforting not alienating. “I missed you,” she admitted, opening herself enough to lean on him. It was the dead of night and she needed that. They had been friends. It was not the first thing they had been and had come later, but over time they had been friends.

“I knew I was your favourite,” he teased and she made a noise of disgust punching him gently on the arm.

“So, my darling Anwen, what possible reason could you have for sitting out here in the snow and cold?”

“It's complicated.”

“You've been complicated since the moment I met you,” he told her under no uncertain terms. “Make it simple, or let us go back to the inn for drinks. Either way it's cold as balls out here and I have no intention of letting mine freeze.”

The laughter that rang forth from her throat was neither forced or unwanted. She needed more of this. More moments of happiness to guide her through the darkness. And he certainly had a point. It was cold. Probably enough that the puddles had frozen over. Any sensation in her fingers had fled long ago leaving her with numbed appendages but she did not share Ralof’s desire to move.

Glancing at the sky, the dancing lights that welcomed, she sighed. There was so much inside her and she felt shattered, broken. Anwen wasn’t the girl she had been but neither did she feel she had the strength to be the dragon born, to hold that mantle and guide people through it. “I know my past,” she spoke uncertain of what words would flow from her lips. “I did what I had to in order to survive and I was damn good at it.”

 “No protests from me,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. It wasn't sensual or anything more than comfort. This was how it should be. No emotions. Nothing to complicate matters. Ralof had sought release from her and it had been her job to provide it. It should always have been so easy.

“But I look back on it now,” she could not force herself to look at him.. “When I broke free of that life, I was happy to step away from it. Especially after what happened with the Imperials.”

“What did happen?” She tensed and he soothed. “Sorry. Sorry. Got it. Sensitive subject.”

“Ralof,” she swallowed hard it was difficult to speak about how she felt. She'd gotten good at burying it down a long time ago. “I don't regret selling myself but I think back on it now and I can't – I don't want to be known that way.”

“Honestly,” he told her, turning and taking her shoulders. “After what you've done, I don't think anyone's calling you wench anymore. Thane, dragonborn, Arch-mage, Harbinger,” he said pointedly. “Maybe, but wench, not so much,”

“That's what I had hoped too,” she sighed and he made a shot in the dark.

“Ulfric?”

“ _Galmar_.”

“When have you ever cared what he said?” he laughed. “You know he's never liked you.”

“I thought things were starting to change,” she shook her head. As she said the words she knew the truth that she had been hoping. She knew she didn’t want it to be before but she wanted to be treated like an equal – it was all she had wanted. To have expected as much was always setting up for failure. “I shouldn't have come here. I did my part defeating Alduin and I _should_ be staying neutral in this anyway.”

“Anwen -”

“Please don't Ralof,” she sighed and he blissfully silenced. Anwen looked to where Onyx still hadn't settled for the night. She was waiting for her, whenever she needed to go. It reminded her one of the reasons that she was still out here. “But could you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Get something from the palace for me?” at his raised eyebrows she hastily added. “It's mine! It's in my room. I didn't have chance to grab it before I left.”

“What is it?”

“My amulet of Talos,” she told him with a huff of breath. She'd taken it off for safe keeping and she already missed it sorely. “And there's a few blades and my ebony armour.”

“You wear armour?”

She slyly smiled at, him feeling better for the brief reprieve from her mind. “You really thought I faced Alduin wearing this?” she pulled at her robe and he chuckled.

“Fair enough,” with a groan he stood. “I'll be back soon.” He started to move off and then paused. “You really going to sit out here and freeze your arse off? You know how fond I am of it.”

Instead of replying straight away, she raised a fireball in her hand. “Get going or I'll warm your arse up.”

“Aye, aye, ma'am.”

With a shake of her head, she watched him retreat and moved off the wall.Sensing it would be a while, Onyx finally sat down and she curled up against his side, draping her cloak around them both.

The night was beautiful. For all her grievances and bad memories surrounding this hold, there was something about the sky above Windhelm at night. Winterhold was a bit like it too, she supposed, but not as much. There was a tug in a heart that was hard to deny. Windhelm had been her home and that feeling did not dissipate just because of time.

The wind travelled and added a musical note that threatened to pull her under. She closed her eyes and let it drift over her, taking away any residual pain and anger. When the large snore over wrote that of the air, breaking out from _inside_ the landscape, she chuckled. As time passed she became aware that she was the only conscious one; Onyx’s heart finally slowing enough to tell her owner she had fallen asleep.

Anwen wouldn't leave the city that night. When Ralof was back she was going to slink back to the Candlehearth inn and rest before making a final decision with a hopefully clearer outlook. In her anger she had considered riding out to Solitude but it wasn’t even really an option. For all the satisfaction she would feel at the mere prospect of Ulfric’s reaction, it would be a petty thing. She would rather stay out of the fighting then go against her beliefs. She was better than that. Petty spitefulness was not her game, after all.

Ralof took his sweet time getting back though and at the eventual tread of footsteps on stone, she stood, Onyx sleeping on as she re-wrapped her cloak around her. Lifting her pack she let out a huff of breath. She didn’t remember it being so heavy but she knew that she was drained, all her energy having gone to keeping her warm. It would perhaps have been a good idea to get a fire going but such thoughts were useless now. She managed to half-shoulder it when she looked down the walkway and blanched.

_Of all the people._

“You are not Ralof,” she stated at the approaching figure and he laughed, a low not entirely jovial sound. In the night he looked massive, wrapped in furs to combat the cold, his frame large enough already without the added material.

“He is busy getting his ear chewed off by Galmar,” Ulfric told her coming into the light and his expression was tight, a small sack hanging in one hand.

“Do not be too hard on him,” she pleaded not wishing him to suffer on her behalf. Already she was chastising herself for not thinking it through more. Ralof was no thief.

“I won't,” Ulfric’s shoulders dropped minutely, the air thick but not as tense, as if he had expected a worse reception. In her surprise, she had forgotten that she had told him not to speak to her. His posture still sscreamed of his unease at their situation. “Lesser men have fallen prey to your charm.”

It was a jibe but it did not feel as such, no heat behind the words. Not like their earlier conversations. If the words had spilled from Ralof's mouth and not his, she might even have laughed. “I did not charm him. I just asked for help.”

“Then he is a wiser man than I for listening,” he told her and held out his hand. She watched as the amulet dropped, not to the ground for his fingers still held the string but enough for her to make it out. Her heart sang at the sight of it, even in Ulfric's hand.

“He told you what I sought,” it was no question. Ulfric dropped the bag of armour but stepped forwards with the amulet.

“I had not dreamed that you would still have this,” he told her then flickered his gaze to the horse with a smirk. “Though you seem better at holding onto things than could be expected.”

Reaching out, her hand enclosed around the amulet and Ulfric dropped the rest of it. Without hesitation she clutched it close to her chest, warmth spreading from where it touched her skin. It was hard not to feel something deep within her. Her mind turning back time to when he had found her crying, searching underneath his bed frantically. She had expected his anger, to demand her to get out or some other such display of disapproval.

Instead, he had slowly collected her and stilled her hands. Listened to her when she explained that she had lost her amulet of Talos – the only thing the bandits had left. It was her mothers. He had let her continue her search but she had given up when reason sunk in. There were more places than this it could have fallen, some all but impossible for her to search.

She had expected that to be the end of it. Expected she had lost the last reminder of her mother and then Ulfric had asked to see her. There had been a box upon his table and within it her amulet – down to her mother’s engraved initials upon the back.

“If you thought me fool enough to wear this when I was with Imperials,” she spoke and her voice was too thick to finish her sentence. Instead she focused on the necklace, swallowing hard, mouthing thanks when she couldn’t manage them.

“Let me help,” he offered, eyes flicking briefly to her clutched hands. They shook as she passed it back, turning. Ulfric did not draw out the action, quickly clasping it back in place, hands moving back to his side.

“You intend to leave then,” he stated considering her and her horse.

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady herself, she turned, “Galmar made his opinion of me very clear earlier. I do not stay where I am not wanted.”

Ulfric pressed closer still and she could feel the warmth emanating from him. The allure from her frozen form betrayed her. “Galmar's opinions are not mine.”

Her heart betrayed her by shuddering at the glint in his eyes but she turned her face away from it. She had no intentions of getting back into this. “I thought I made myself clear,” she murmured.

“About not wanting to speak to me?” he asked and she nodded mutely. Considering what had just transpired between them, she had little strength to add to the fire. “I will respect your wishes on the condition that you hear me out.”

“Ulfric,” she let her shoulders slump. “It is late and I am too tired to talk now of wars.”

He took her chin in his finger and thumb, lifting her gaze, forcing emerald eyes into steeled blue ones. “I do not wish to speak of wars.”

Her agreement was a silent, slow closing of her eyes and he took it as such. “When your disappeared you were in Haafingar, the heart of the Empire. It took until your next missive was missed – two weeks later – for us to realise something was wrong. By the time we were sure of it, it had been almost a month.

“The Empire does not take kindly to spies or worshippers of Talos. Galmar declared you dead and I had to agree. We had no men in Haafingar, that was why we sent _you_. To send another would have signed their death warrant when first they asked about you.”

Ulfric's words were not cold and calculating but spoken with sympathy, with the pain of losing a friend and she struggled to keep her tongue. “And then we were loaded onto our carts after the ambush and I saw you. Battered, bruised, bleeding, but you. You were alive, Arla. _My_ _Arla_.”

His eyes were too much. They burrowed through her and she turned to the side, breaking away from her touch, too tired, too raw to prevent tears running silently down her face. “I sent Ralof with you and you were supposed to come back with him,” pained words turned accusative with a hint of desperation, “Why didn't you?”

“I went to Whiterun,” she spoke to the ground on an exhale. “They needed me. It was then that I learned my _abilities_.”

He nodded but thankfully asked for no more words than that for she felt her voice cracking. “I was unkind in my treatment of Ralof up when he got back alone. Galmar stayed my hand when I wanted to send a search party. Told me you knew your way back. He was right about that.”

“You sent me away,” she found her voice at the lull in his, eyes burning as they met. “Asked me to whore myself to further your cause. How can I trust anything you say?”

Ulfric nodded at that but his face shifted to a mask. Why then she wasn’t sure but felt herself forced to cling to his words instead, “I did what I had to. Had I known – well. It doesn't matter. I cannot change the past and will not justify my actions now, but we can start anew. If you are willing.”

It did not feel as easy as that.

“I can see the mistrust in your eyes, Anwen,” he addressed her by her new name in a careful tone. As though he were playing with fire and he knew it. “Come back to the palace. In the morning you are welcome at my war table and we will discuss our next steps together.”

“Ulfric,” she said carefully after a minute of consideration. “I will not swear fealty to you. Not now, not ever. Know that here.”

Rather than take it as a challenge, the older man nodded and bent down to pick up not only the satchel he had bought but her pack too, shouldering the latter. “I think a silent promise not to stab Galmar in the back will put that issue to bed.”

“If I were going to kill him,” she told him plainly falling into step beside him and trying not to feel defeated. “He would see it coming.”

The jarl chuckled but shook his head in apparent disapproval. The remainder of the walk back was left in silence and Anwen was relieved that the main hall was empty when they walked through and up the stairs. At her door, Ulfric handed over her belongings and headed towards his own room.

_What on earth is he planning?_

Anwen shook her head and stepped inside. It was warm and she was tired and in that moment, it was enough.


	15. Chapter 15

By morning, a lot of the anger, frustration and resentment had been bled from Anwen's body and reluctant as she had been to admit it, staying in the palace was preferable to a night in the candelhearth. Although Elda did her best to keep it clean and it was miles better than some of the taverns she had found herself in where there was nought else for miles, there was still the annoying presence of the many other men and women who traipsed through the place at the dead of night. She would know, having been one of them. 

The palace was by no means a home. How could it be with so many soldiers moving through it so regularly? Instead it was safety and treated as a home, the doors closed to the public at sun down and the guards on patrol careful not to wake those lucky enough to find sleep. Anwen knew as she was weighing up the pros and cons of the palace, that she was delaying. She was delaying even thinking on what Ulfric had said last night because to do so would mean recalling her own words. It had been late and she had been tired and she was all too aware how often her voice had broken and how raw she still felt about it now.

 _It isn’t like that,_ she told herself. Ulfric had not come out to speak to Arla. He had come into the dead of night for the dragonborn. Ulfric wanted to earn her trust so that he had access to the dragonborn, at least that is how it felt. It wrung painfully that he had made no denial that she had once been his puppet.

 _You're just a more important puppet this time_ , her mind told her as she moved to the stairs. Procrastination had warred in her mind but her hands had been occupied with dressing and she had no excuse not to hide her face. Anwen was tired of hiding. She was fed up of sneaking around and taking routes she knew she was least likely to encounter the jarl upon. It had gone on long enough.

 _Last chance,_ she vowed to herself. Never again would she come back and feel this again. There was a point, a point where she could no longer put others before herself for fear of destroying who she was and Anwen knew if there was anyone who had that power over her, it was Ulfric.

The thought sobered her and not in a good way. She wished she had been wiser in her youth, that she had never let him in, never let him touch her heart. It should have been easy. None of the others did. It would be a test to work with him.

As she descended the stairs only to hear raised voices below her, she decided that perhaps she was not the only one being tested in this war.

The noise was clearly emanating from the war room, opening the door she saw the two of them, opposite sides of the board. Ulfric completely infuriated and Galmar unmoving.

"Tell me again why we're wasting time and dwindling resources chasing a legend. We don't even know it exists!" Ulfric called out, hunched over his map. It did not make him appear smaller, if anything, he was more intimidating. Like a wolf ready to attack. 

"The Jarls are upset. They don't all support you."Galmar reminded not even phased by the display which would have had just about any other stormcloak heading for the hills. The old bear’s remark was cutting but not as much as his remarks about her of late. It was a little harder to push past that as she studied them silently.

"Damn the Jarls."

“They demand the Moot."

"And damn the Moot! We should risk letting those milk drinkers put Torygg's woman on the throne? She'll hand Skyrim over to the elves on a silver plate."

“All the more reason then. The crown would legitimize your claim."

"A crown doesn't make a king."

"No, but this one..."

"If it even exists."

"It exists. And it'll be the symbol of the righteousness of our cause. Think about it. The Jagged Crown! It heralds back to a time before Jarls and Moots. Back to the time when a king was a king because his enemies fell before him, and his people rose because they loved him. Skyrim needs that king. You will be that king, Ulfric. You must be."

“You're certain you've found it?"

"When have I ever been false with you?"

"Fine,” Ulfric let some of the intensity of his posture drop. It spoke volumes on their friendship that the man could push so far and still remain close to his side. Anyone else would have been locked in the dungeons years ago– well, not quite anyone, her mind helpfully reminded her of the numerous screaming matches between the two of them.

Before her mind could try and create some blasted insinuation over what it meant, she decided that it was just something that came with knowing. Anwen had known Ulfric for years and that gave her privileges not yet earnt by his troops.

No longer happy with the nature of her thoughts, Anwen made a small coughing noise that immediately drew Galmar’s gaze. The man was scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest. It felt like whatever progress had been made between them during their training sessions was lost once more. Instead of challenging him upon it, she decided to have fun.

“Morning,” it was a tone that she hadn’t used in a long time. Only a subtle difference from her usual voice but there was a sweet, playful lilt within it. When she smiled, flickering her gaze, his gaze darkened. Galmar wanted to see her as a whore still? Fine, she’d treat him in a way she knew he hated. “So good to see you, Galmar.”

“Anwen, play nice,” Ulfric murmured and she barked a laugh at that but still saddled up close to Galmar, standing close enough that she could practically hear his internal argument before he took a step backwards.

“Have I offended?”

“Knock it off, dragonborn. We have work to do.”

The honorific was a step in the right direction, enough for her not to push it. If she wanted, she could make him really uncomfortable but she was certain it wasn’t worth the barbs that would be thrown or Ulfric’s interference. Still, it was useful to know how easily she could get under his skin.

“If you can call that bickering work,” she threw her head back to stare at him where he now perched by the door. He relaxed at her expression. “Honestly, you sounded like an old married couple. Jagged crown?”

Ulfric huffed, crossing his arms over his chest but clearly ignoring her jibe. “Fancy a crawl through a mouldering dungeon to see if you can't stir up Galmar's Jagged Crown?"

"It'll be there. You'll see." 

For all their arguments and bad blood, the conviction in Galmar’s voice was enough for her. “I will go.”

“Who said you are welcome, dragonborn? You are no Stormcloak.”

“My help is there,” she splayed her arms as if laying out some great dish before them. 

“Galmar, Anwen will accompany you,” Ulfric spoke with authority and held his general’s gaze as if demanding him argue. Anwen was almost sad when Galmar agreed, wishing to see what he would have done next.

“Fine.”

Anwen did not feel relief at the word but she smiled all the same. Galmar stormed out immediately after and, as a show of thanks, she nodded her head once towards Ulfric before departing, not waiting to see his reaction or if he had any words just for her.

\----- 

The journey was long and thankfully there was more than just Galmar for company. Ralof too headed out with them and a small group of stormcloaks and she filled the long hours of walking with conversation with the men. A few she recognised vaguely from the past but thankfully none made unsavoury comments, all treating her with respect.

Ralof and Galmar were the only ones who really spoke their mind to her and of the two, it was Ralof’s mind that she favoured. Whenever there was a lull he would regail her with tales of his journeys and skirmishes with the Imperials. He knew better than to ask about her own experiences but on occasion she would let him in a touch, discussing her fight with Alduin, her journey to Sovrngard and how she came to be Harbinger for the Companions.

Although Galmar was not looking to her, she knew him to be listening in those conversations and she couldn’t blame him. There was little else to do when huddled around a small fire.

The closer they came to their destination, the more she felt the itch beneath her skin which spoke of impending battle. She was slightly concerned that some dragon would swoop down from the sky but their journey was free of such perils on the most part.

The same could not be said for their arrival.

They were thrown directly into the thick of battle with Imperials and the trail of bodies they left leading to the entrance was by no means all of their enemies. It did little to stop them, not with what was at stake, not when Anwen had something to prove.

Not even Galmar had been able to argue when she had taken down a draugr deathlord before it had fully gotten chance to stand, letting the Jagged Crown slide down her wrist as she waited for the men to dispatch the last few draugr that had popped up.

By the time he turned, she was leaning over an old, dusty, stone throne with a smile. “Enjoying yourself down there?”

“Is that the crown?”

“Well, it’s certainly jagged and crown-shaped. Although it really doesn’t look comfortable.” 

“Stop your messing and get that back to Ulfric.”

“What no back up?” she stood and stretched her shoulders. She didn’t need back up but considering the importance of their mission she had expected something.

“We’ll clean up the ruin. You’ll be faster on your own and since you refuse to wear stormcloak colours,” it was said with a hand gesturing to her far-superior, and hard-earned, armour. “You’re less likely to run into trouble.”

“I just think you don’t want me stealing food at camp.”

Galmar ignored her. “Go.”

It might have annoyed her more if there wasn’t reason to his words. Instead, she hopped towards the exit and glanced at her map, all the while wishing she’d have ridden out on Onyx.


	16. Chapter 16

The walk was long and arduous on her own. It was a stark reminder of that for all she claimed to be a lone wolf, able to hold her own, she didn’t _like_ being one. And for the majority of the past year, she hadn’t been. From the moment she stepped off of that cart in Helgen, she had been fighting beside someone else. First it was Ralof, then it was Irileth and almost immediately after Lydia became her housecarl.

Lydia, her trustworthy friend who hiked to hell and back by her side and only ever complained when Anwen wanted her to carry more things. There was a pang of guilt. She hadn’t sent a letter to Whiterun. She could imagine the housecarl had been struggling just as much as she at the prospect of being housebound these last few weeks. Maybe she thought of it as a holiday, but Anwen doubted it. More than once Lydia had charged into the fight first. She loved it. More than Anwen.

For Anwen, the blood, sweat and tears of war were a necessity and not something she enjoyed. That wasn’t to say there wasn’t a thrill in battle; the adrenaline fuelling her on as she stared down a dragon countless time bigger than her. It was merely that she didn’t live for it. Deep down, she wished she could still be the farm girl with her parents but it was the family she wanted more than the farm. She missed her parents sorely. Sure, she had brothers and sisters in arms and they were a close family but there was something missing. A link that couldn’t be patched with steel-forged bonds.

Anwen didn’t want to die in glorious battle. She wanted more than the legacy of her name, of the dragonborn. She wanted a family. Kicking a pebble as she walked down a dusty road, she doubted that would ever happen now.

There was still that nagging doubt in the back of her mind, the one that whispered horrible things, that wouldn’t let her let go of her past. _Who’d want a whore for a wife?_ She snarled to herself.

Inside raged the debate of her life; fighting for her sense of worth. She was a dragonborn. More than that she was _the_ dragonborn. Defeater of Alduin. Harbinger to the Companions, Arch-Mage to the College of Winterhold. Thane of nearly every gods damn hold in Skyrim. 

_You’re was an orphan with no family. A whore. Used and abused. Left to rot in the dark._

She had friends. A second family.

_You have no one who knows the truth and still loves you._

The battle inside her mind raged. Raged the long steps back to Windhelm. What she wouldn’t have given for someone else’s inane chatter to give her focus, to not leave the battle inside her mind. By the time she saw Windhelm come into view, she felt drained.

Onyx trotted out to the edge of the stable and Anwen moved forwards, hugging the beast with all her might.

“I missed you,” she told her steed with a smile, pulling back and brushing her mane. The task before her was too close to collapse now, and for once she was returning to Windhelm with good news.

Anwen strolled through the city, legs and arms feeling heavy. She had ridden the last stretch through the night, knowing that she wouldn’t sleep well anyway in her given state of mind. It was early now, the market stalls only just beginning to buzz to life.

Pushing the heavy oak doors open, she let dust particles escape the old Palace and moved inside. She wasn’t surprised to find Ulfric already sitting upon his throne. He had always been an early riser. She doubted there was a night in living memory where he had slept more than six hours in one go.

She didn’t focus on how she knew that, just accepting that she did.

His eyes burned upon hers as soon as he saw her, and kept their intensity as she reached the foot of his throne, crouching down to rummage into her pack. He stood and took a tentative step, one that became firmer when she pulled out the old, spikey crown.

The warmth of his laughter filled the quiet halls and sunk into her skin.

“Here's the Jagged Crown. I believe you owe Galmar a drink?” she said wryly pushing aside any errant feelings that hadn’t yet learnt their place.

"Damn him―the old bear was right! Did you run into any trouble?” Ulfric spoke but his eyes were focused on the old bone crown and the thing was ugly, and painful. Even the pack hadn’t protected her back all the time. She’d been stabbed more times the last two days.

“Nothing I couldn't handle.”

His lips lifted at the edges, his eyes sharp. “I see. You do however look exhausted.”

“I rode through the night,” she dismissed with a shrug, immensely relieved when he accepted, nodding. She couldn’t deal with being second guessed. She knew her body. Knew her mind and what she was capable of.

“Get to bed then. You’ve certainly earned the rest.”

She couldn’t help it. Her mind immediately betrayed her, a flash back of him and her, a bed, resting. She shook her head. She was in no mind for this now. “Thank you, jarl Ulfric,” she managed before turning and heading upstairs.

Anwen didn’t recall how it was she got into bed, her last memory being to collapse atop the bed and shut her eyes. With how she felt, not even her mind dared play against her that day.

\----- 

Anwen woke and it was night.

Her room had been plunged into complete darkness, only a warm glow of yellow light reaching it underneath the door. She groaned as she stretched, wishing she had had the strength of mind to undress before falling onto the bed. She wiped the drool – and wasn’t that lovely? – from her cheek as she sat back.

She felt disgusting.

The armour she wore was still coated in the blood of her enemies, the same blood that sat atop her skin and under her nails. She felt disgusted when she tried to undo her hair and it was crusty.

“That’s it,” she huffed and headed to the door. She ordered the first guard she saw to convey her message, dictating it in such a tone that she left no room for argument.

Unwilling to soil any more of her clean clothes, she reluctantly remained in her crusted armour, removing the heavier pieces and settling in the undershirt and breeches she wore beneath it. It wasn’t long before a knock resounded on her door and she eagerly moved towards it.

The two guards carried a heavy metal bathing tub between them. “By the fire please,” she instructed as they quickly did as bid.

She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t insisted on having a tub permanently left in her room before. For the amount of times she needed to use it, it would be less hassle.

“We’ll fetch the water now, my lady,” one of the guards – one she didn’t recognise – said but she shook her head and moved towards the tub.

“No need,” water was easy. Perhaps the easiest of any of the elements. She sat on the edge and directed her hands down, harnessing power from her core, and vapour from the air. Before long it was full and she turned to see two very-surprised guards.

They straightened at her smile, the smaller of the two taking a step closer to peer inside. “Isn’t it cold?”

She smirked again and raised a fire in the palm of her hand. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” the taller grabbed the smaller and dragged him out. It never ceased to amaze her how some had never before seen magic. Or if they had, not outside the battlefield.

The water felt amazing against her skin as she slipped into it, warm but not scorching, and worked immediately at all her aches and sore spots. She had poured some drops of fragrant oils into the water before she entered and now floral scents filled the musty palace walls. She groaned, sinking further into it.

It was a good five minutes of simply enjoying the water’s caress before she could bring herself to think about scrubbing. It didn’t take long before the water changed colour and that hurried her. She rubbed her skin pink, wanting to rid herself of days-old battle and let herself for once feel more like a human than a one-person war machine.

When she left the tub, she smelt entirely human and perfumed too. She was just finishing dressing as the knock sounded against her door.

“A moment,” she called as she hurried the laces on the plain tunic she’d found in the wardrobe. Her robes needed washing and only battle could encourage her back into her armour that evening. She half-expected it to be Sifnar, always taking care to make sure she was fed. She imagined his old wrinkled face, an appearance of malice when within he felt the opposite.

She was smiling as she opened the door, a smile that immediately faltered. “Ulfric.”

“Anwen,” he returned and he didn’t resist letting his eyes trail over his body. She noticed how he straightened a little more, his eyes darkening. She chose to let it be a compliment and nothing more. “I had thought – you haven’t eaten.

The lack of organisation of his thoughts amused. “No. I fell asleep and have just bathed.”

“I can tell, you smell – “he coughed and turned his gaze to the side, taking a long exhale. “We can go to dinner together and you can recall to me the tale of how you reclaimed what I believed to be a legend.”

“The story isn’t all that,” she told him plainly but stepped out of the door, locking it behind her. She wouldn’t step out like this if her stomach hadn’t flipped at the mere mention of food. Let alone warm, good food. That was one of the harder elements of war. Fighting and pain were easy. Not eating more than scraps and stale bread was disheartening in epic proportions.

Ulfric kept his distance, one step before her as they descended the stairs. He began peppering her with questions; had they fought? Were they outnumbered? What was the ruin like? How many draugr? Did they lose anyone? When will Galmar return? The list seemed ceaseless but she took her time in reply, always finishing her next mouthful before she responded.

Throughout it all, Ulfric remained calm and his focus never wavered. Not until plates had been cleared. And even then his questions kept her downstairs. It ended up being entirely by chance that she saw the figure in the darkness. He moved against the back wall and Anwen was out of her chair mid-sentence.

She moved with lightning speed as she caught the man. The shadows couldn’t hide him from her. The moment she was close enough to see his face, she reared with anger.

He was down on the ground before he could even comprehend he had been caught, Anwen’s sharp knee in his back, arm twisted around his back, held firmly in her hands.

Ulfric was beside her a moment later as the man called, “Mercy, mercy!”

“What is going on?”

“This is no Stormcloak,” she hissed, twisting his arm. “He might wear your garb but he sneaks in the shadows.” 

He recognised her voice, turned to look at her with surprise and fear. “Let me go, wench. You know not of what you speak.”

“You will watch your tongue under these walls or lose it,” Ulfric’s voice was deadly. “What is your name?”

“Gareth Firebeard, my Jarl” he spluttered, wheezing when Anwen refused to give him much in the way of breath.

“His true name is Oxourius. He was based in Dragon’s Bridge. An Imperial agent. I swear it.”

The man’s eyes widened and he started stammering anew, “She’s right. My name is Oxourius but I – I came to join! To swear fealty to the Jarl!” the man defended but anyone could see that it was a last ditch attempt.

The more she gazed upon his sweating face, the more she was reminded of what she had seen. Her disgust grew and she twisted his arm harder. “Pig. You deserve nothing more than death for what you did.”

“I take it, dragonborn, that you do not vouch for this man?”

“Dragonborn?” Oxurious sneered flicking his eyes over to her. “That wench?” 

Anwen let out a cruel smile and felt him shrink back at the power in her eyes, the crackle of her skin. It would have been easy. So easy to enact justice long gone unserved alas a hand on her wrist stilled any action that she might take. If it weren’t for the anger in the Jarl’s eyes, she might have challenged him. Instead, she released the night stalker, stood and moved to Ulfric’s side. Knowing his position, the man simply sat up and let his head hang.

“Take him to the dungeons,” the Jarl ordered, clicking his fingers at the other guards that had gathered closely. “See if you can't find out why he's really here.”

Memories of her past, anger and hatred drove her hastily from the room. She wanted to go and beat his pasty face to a pulp. She was at the top of the stairs before she realised there was another behind her. Of course, he would need answers. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm as he approached.

His eyes were equally as enraged as hers had been a moment ago. Without question she followed him down the long corridor, up past her room and towards his. He stormed into the middle of the room, a long line of tension as she leant against the door. It was as if their emotions had transferred between the two of them.

“An Imperial agent? In my city? In my palace?” He demanded and she had no answers for him. With her continued silence, Ulfric stomped close to her, looking at someone to take the brunt of his anger. For one moment, she wished Galmar was there.

“You know him.”

It wasn’t quite an insinuation.

“Yes,” she told him, not wavering under the intensity of his gaze. “He was a soldier stationed in Dragon’s Bridge.”

Ulfric's gaze narrowed. “There’s more to it than that. I saw the hatred in your eyes.”

At this she sneered, not at him, but the floor as she recalled. “I spent a lot of time in the Tavern,” she began reminiscing a tale she did not truly wish to retell. “The family had been accepting of the soldiers and their needs. Up until a point,” she let out a breath, still wishing the girl had never had to experience that. “I was returning to my home,” she didn’t expand. Didn’t want to. “I was moving towards the stairs when I heard it. Her struggles. The owners had a daughter. Same age as me. That bastard wouldn’t accept no. She wasn’t like me, she was sweet and innocent and so he tried to force himself.”

Ulfric straightened but she kept her gaze on the ground, not seeing the rug or their shoes. “I stopped him. Pulled him off, threatened him with a knife. Do you know what he did? He laughed. He laughed at her misery and in my face. Julienne got away at least.”

He raised his arm, as if to touch or hold her before dropping his arm. He swallowed her. “And you – “

She chuckled darkly. “I can handle myself. Always have been able to. He’d had too much to drink and went down pretty quickly after the kick I gave him but I had to flee that night. I didn’t know where I was going,” she shook her head. “Those weren’t the easiest months of my life.”

“He will die,” Ulfric vowed but the anger had leeched from his bones, replaced by something she didn’t bother analysing. “Once he tells us why he's here and what he knows. Until then I will increase security in and around the Palace. No one in or out unless I call them friend.” 

She bowed her head, still trying to pull herself back from that moment. It was as she did that she truly realised their close proximity. Ulfric noticed too, taking a step back and turning as if burned.

A shaking breath escaped her.

“You have done me a service today,” he told her, tension holding him up. “Go, get your rest. I will have more work for you in the morning.”

All the work the bath had worked to do felt as though it had been undone. Her back was tense and she felt tired once more. Another night’s sleep didn’t seem like it would be enough. Shaking, her hand went to the door knob and she twisted. When his voice called out again, weary, tired.

“I have no right to ask you this.”

“Yet you will anyway,” she guessed glancing over her shoulder and nodding, giving permission. She could always choose not to answer.

“You’ve never – a man has never forced himself upon you?”

Her nose twitched but she shook her head. “It’s been close a few times,” the memory of her first – of how she entered her old profession still shook her to the core. She had consented but out of desperation without truly knowing what it would mean for her. _At least it kept you alive,_ she reminded herself. “But I have my brain and a few tricks beside. Closet that thugs like him get is as I thrust my leg into their jewels,” she replied honestly, stepping through the door. “Even I have standards.”

A soft uneven laugh followed her as she made the short steps to her own room.

She wanted to just forget everything that had happened but as she headed for bed that evening, she doubted very much that that would be the case. There was a bottle, one left over from her time injured, one that would send her to sleep without dreams and she gladly took it. Right then she simply needed to stop.


	17. Chapter 17

 

_Cold infused the air around her, the sky darkened against the sun that still shon high in the sky. A mist swept in from the lake and fear wrapped around her as tightly as the cloak, fingers caressing the message up her sleeve. Her reason for being out here. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones. The very universe was warning her._

_Still, she walked. Her mission drove her. The information was important. Would save lives. She walked to where her courier was supposed to meet her._

_The journey to this point was long, two miles out of the town she’d been staying in. It was designed to be an inconspicuous spot. None should be out here save other travellers on the road. She tried to calm her mind, telling her mind it was fine. That nothing was wrong. That she had taken this journey every fortnight for the past few months and never had a problem._

_For a moment, she almost believed herself._

_The figure appeared from within the mist. **That must be my man,**_ _she thought but she did not recognise him as she moved tentatively towards him. Nerves had her crossing her arms, feeling the press of the scroll against her skin, tucked away as it was in the arm of her dress._

_The wind shifted and her heart froze.  
_

_Where it should have been one man, there were four. At their head stood a Thalmor, robes recognisable for miles with the golden thread. It was too late to flee. They had seen her. She averted her gaze, hoping to seem respectful._

**_If I walk past them, go down to the river, it’ll be fine,_ ** _she thought as her mind came up with plans to rid herself of the message._

_Luck was not with her._

_“You,” the Thalmor called out and she froze. She wasn’t cut out for this. She was no liar. The very world stopped as she turned around panic gripping her chest. The wretched smile and glinting green eyes of the Thalmor burned into hers. “I'd say she matches the description. Take her.”_

_“What?” she demanded taking quick steps backwards but the men were faster, encasing her, crushing her arms in their grips. She winced more at the crinkle of paper than any real pain._

_The noise did not go unnoticed. Within a second, the Imperial had yanked the parchment from her and passed it to the Thalmor. He made no motion to read it now, instead inspecting her face. He came to stand inches from her, taking her chin harshly in his thumb and forefinger._

_“Brown hair, green eyes, pointed chin and small nose,” he listed off her attributes like he was going down a mental check list. “Breton,” his eyes skimmed over her small stature and ample curves with a nod._

_There was nothing but fear in her eyes, legs trembling as the Thalmor pulled open the scroll and read down it. His own predatory smile grew._

_“We've found out leak,” his finger skimmed her jaw and she turned her face, feeling it flame up. “Ursul, isn't it? Or at least one of your names. I have heard many. Such a pretty whore.”_

_“Let's go,” the Thalmor turned on his heal and she felt something drop across her face, she began to struggle as it closed over her throat, screaming. There was no relief when it moved up to silence her. She gasped into the fabric, felt a shock of pain at the back of her mind and then the world went black._

A scream woke her from her dream and it took too long to realise it originated in her throat. Her hands flew to her face, scraping down her neck, searching for the binds but they were gone. Sweat covered her as sobs wracked through her body.

The room was darkness and she had had too much darkness in her life. She threw up a mage light without looking up from her hands, gasping for air that didn’t come as she shook.

That day had been the single most terrifying in her entire existence. More so than when the bandits attacked her homestead, more so than when she first agreed to sell her body, more so than when she first left the safety of Windhelm. Nothing could compare to it and nothing had since. And that was merely the first day.

The gasps weren’t enough. She felt like she was suffocating as she tried so desperately to pull herself together. But when her mind was in the past, it didn’t matter what she was now only what had been then. The fear chased her every breath.

Anwen couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed away the covers harshly, uncaring where they landed as she kicked her legs free and went to the water basin. She quickly splashed her face, her neck, stripping away her night shirt and letting the water bring her back to reality. She didn’t care that it was icy. 

The Thalmor’s words were still whispering in her ears, she turned involuntarily. The room wasn’t big enough. She needed air. She needed to see the sky.

Her mind wasn’t processing enough for her to change. She barely paused to redress, grab her boots and a cloak, not bothering to put the former on as she left the room. Even though she wanted to run, she forced herself to be slow, careful, to use her training in the Guild. The last thing she wished was to wake others.

The darkness of the main hall was crushing but she didn’t bother with a light this time. Her eyes fixated on the door and it was her sole point of purpose. The chill running under the wood, a signal to the weather outside, gave her pause as she struggled into her boots.

“Running away?” the voice was low but boomed in the stillness of the room, she jumped and yelped before acting, throwing up a mage light to illuminate the figure sat at the table with a goblet in his hand.

Her heart was still pounding, her eyes flickering around for invisible enemies. She sank against the wood of the door, once again struggling for breath.

The creak of bench against the floor, the feel of his steps moving towards her both grounded and terrified. They weren’t the steps of the Thalmor or her Imperial torturers. Those were Ulfric’s. She was in the Palace of the Kings. In Windhelm.

“What are you doing?” she demanded barely managing to raise her head. She didn’t want to be seen like this, raw and broken.

“I could ask you the same,” Ulfric spoke dispassionately but he still. She felt his eyes burning into her. “You'll freeze to death in that before you even make it to the stables.”

“I wasn't leaving,” she told him, gulping back air, hands clenching and unclenching against the wood. Annoyance sprang at the back of her mind; that he thought she would leave and that this was how it would happen. Hadn’t she proven herself already? _Yes_ , _focus on tha_ t, she pushed her body to be angry and annoyed. Anything but scared. “I just needed air.”

His gaze became shrewder at the tremble in her voice. Anwen tried to straighten but her legs betrayed her by wobbling, her hands by shaking, her eyes by flickering. “You're scared,” he noted softly and the surprise in his tone was better than pity. “Terrified, even.”

It was hard to deny it when her heart was still pounding, green eyes still haunted her. He came close and pushed a hand into her loose hair, she shivered involuntarily at the feel but he was warm were _they_ had always been cold. Real when _they_ were ghosts. She didn’t push back. Didn’t have the strength. “What happened?”

“A reminder of my past,” she told him, resting her hand on his chest to push away and to comfort. She needed some control or contact. She wasn’t sure. It helped her calm. His free hand rested against hers.

“Tell me.”

“Is that an order?” she breathed and he chuckled. There was mead on his breath, quite strong that hit her as he spoke.

“No, a request. I miss hearing you speak.”

It was a brazen comment but she wasn't sure he was himself. Ulfric was never so open as this. “Your drunk.” It was mostly a question. A new point of focus. Anything but her past.

“I have had a bit,” he told her without hesitance. “I am not about to start dancing on the table though.”

The mere image made her chuckle a gasping sound that was half a sob, and he smiled but his eyes were locked upon her. She saw the concern. He seemed open in a way she'd only witnessed a few times. It encouraged her though, if he could be honest, maybe she could too. Divines help her, it might even help to get it off of her chest. “I had a dream. About the day I was captured.”

His hand clenched over hers. “What happened?” 

She shook her head. It was already too real. The images were creeping back in her mind. “Anwen,” his voice was low but beckoned. A beacon pulling her back in her own mind. “Anwen.”

“An ambush,” she admitted, swallowing hard and closing her eyes. His hand brushing through her hair softly, sending sparks down her spine, keeping the fear at bay as she spoke. “I was to meet the courier that day. I never saw them. Never knew if they were even there or if they had also been captured. _Thalmor_.”

He hissed his own curse under his breath. His hand over hers clenched and for one moment, in the darkness of the hall, with his body encasing hers, she felt protected. For once, she was the one being held safe. It made it very hard to swallow but she managed to open her eyes, immediately being caught in grey.

“They caught me – said I matched some description and when the missive I carried was found –“

“There was no doubt.”

“None,” she hummed in agreement, still shaking. “It was my fault,” her throat was closing up, the darkness looming in the back of her mind. “It was my fault. I stayed still for too long. Long enough for them to notice there was a leak. They were concerned enough they contacted the Thalmor for help.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he told her and the words were so certain, as if an order, that it was hard to doubt him. Even if he wasn’t there. His hand moved to caress her cheek, pad of his thumb wiping away the tears she hadn’t noticed falling. A silent sob escaped her as she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to discuss this. Didn’t _want_ him to see her like this. She was strong, _dammit_.

He soothed her with sounds that were hard to resist and moved his hand from over hers to around her waist, capturing her as she shook in his embrace. She fought her tears. Fought her memories. She had survived. She was stronger than that.

“I am sorry you had to go through that,” he murmured when she finally opened her eyes and she laughed darkly, hoarsely. The sound twisted by the night and her fear.

“That was nothing. _Nothing_ compared to what came after.”

“I know,” he soothed, hand beginning to trail down her spine. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She wanted to question but her mind was too focused. He had opened the floodgates and there was no stopping them. Not then. “They knew I was a spy, Ulfric. They tortured me for information.”

He squeezed her tightly but remained in complete silence.

Remembering those nights, she could almost feel the whip against her skin, the pull in her arms as they kept her tied to a cross for hours or days, she’d never be sure. “Of all my captors, the Thalmor was the worst,” she swallowed hard. “He – he never asked questions.”

“ _Anwen_ ,” the word was heavy. Laden with so many emotions. It was almost a plea not to say more and a whisper to let him know everything. Her bones felt heavy, her heart fluttered weakly. She still needed air but not being alone – it did more than she could admit to herself in that mind.

“I did not break,” but her voice did on that last word. She had clung to that. To the knowledge others wouldn’t suffer for her mistake. It was the only thing she had to keep her going in the early days. When the fear of the unknown was still the greatest torture. “They – they –“

“You do not need to tell me more. I know what the Thalmor are capable of. What horrors they can inflict.”

Her muscles tensed and then relaxed. There was no lie in his word. It gave her a breath she needed. “It took months. _Months_ before they grew tired. Before they finally believed me useless. That’s why I was on the cart to Helgen.”

The air grew heavy, warm in his embrace, where fear had kept her cold. His hand moved to her chin, tipping her face back up to him, her eyes back to his.

“You have shown me more loyalty than I could have expected,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her heart fluttered violently as she closed her eyes. “I was fool to send you away.”

She laughed so she did not cry. How long she had wanted to hear those words? She felt raw and exposed and couldn’t be sure this wasn’t some trick. “Now I _know_ you're drunk. Go sleep it off, Ulfric and I'll pretend I never heard that.”

A deep sigh deflated his impressive form and she flickered her gaze back to his face, saw pain there. Did he feel pain for her? Had her words affected him? Without thinking she leant up, placing her hand on his cheek. “Ulfric?” 

His hand encased hers and moved it to his lips, setting a kiss upon her palm. “I _will_ go and sleep,” he told her steadily and he did not seem drunk. In fact, he seemed very sober and aware of his actions. That scared her most of all. “But do not pretend this didn't happen.”

Before she could think he leant down and pushed his lips against hers. She gasped but he pulled back, let go of her entirely and was walking away. Anwen couldn't breath and simply stood. Her mind and body were on edge and he had just sliced directly into her heart.

 _Talos help me,_ she prayed silently closing her eyes and feeling him against her once more. She was stronger now but she was unsure she'd ever be strong enough to withstand him. 

\-----


	18. Chapter 18

 

Anwen was not summoned the following day to the war room as she had expected. Her mind pulsed with annoyance and relief. Sleep had not found her easily, not with the memories of his body pressed to hers, his lips, and darker memories spread between of her cold cell and the times she was pulled from within it. She wanted to march downstairs and declare that she wasn’t weak, that she was ready for whatever he could through her way, desperately seeking the distraction of the war. At the same time, she wanted to crawl deep within the furs and let loose the turmoil of emotions inside her. She needed time to build her walls back. She felt drained, if not physically than certainly emotionally.

There was no awareness of time that day save that she had given up trying to find peaceful rest around the time the bird’s chirps had become incessant and the sounds of movement reverberated around the palace. Her eyes still felt puffy and sore, and the cold water of her basin did little to ease that.

Anwen took her time with everything she did. She spent half of the day with a book on her lap, eyes unseeing of the words as she rebuilt her mind. Sifnar had food brought to her door but she could do little more than pick at it. She hadn’t had a nightmare so vivid in months. By no means did she escape them, they would sneak up on her occasionally, sensing moments of weakness just like her captors had. The ease at which she had shook them off before paled in comparison to how momentous it was for her that day. She could not manage more than a scant handful of minutes before some memory attacked her once more. Anwen fought back in her mind as she would now with her body. It was a battle and she was determined to win, fighting each image with increasing doggedness.

In the past it had been easier with what she saw on the road making her brain shut down and body take over. Fight or die. Sometimes what had distracted her came back when she rested, mixed bodies of innocent villagers and soldiers amongst her turmoil.

There were walls inside her minds that separated her life. The young girl who lived with her mother and father, happy, free and at ease. The terrified girl stumbling from place to place looking for a means to get by. Arla, who had the strength to keep her alive and her head high. The nearly-broken husk she became at the hands of the Imperial’s. And Anwen who had stood from the flames of Helgen and carved herself a place in the world.

Behind each wall she stored pieces of herself. The good times and the bad. There were cracks within the walls. Sometimes things seeped through. She blamed Windhelm for the shattering between her walls. If she had not been here, if she had not seen that man again, her walls would have stood strong.

 _And if you hadn’t, who knows what that sneak was planning._ There was a pang of fear for Ulfric’s safety and she hissed at it, trying to convince herself that didn’t matter but of course it did. Anwen was many things and often tried to be a few more besides but she was not heartless. She cared and that wasn’t something she could brush aside as easily as others.          

To do what she needed to do, she had pushed Ulfric out of her mind. Rebuilt her walls without him there to put cracks within them again. More often than not he snuck back anyway. It was impossible not to remember how he had listened, how he had held her. She hadn’t felt so safe in years and dammit all, her body and mind clung to that feeling. She wanted it.

She didn’t need it. She could take care of herself. But she wanted it all the same.

It could have been early evening or the middle of the night when sleep finally clawed its way over her, when she slumped into the bed. The darkness was blissful and unperturbed. When she woke, she once again saw the woman she was, not the broken shell of who she had been. For her own mind, she reapplied her war paint, braided her hair and dressed for battle. She was a warrior and having various weapons strapped around her body helped her reconcile that in her mind.

With confident strides she left her room and headed downstairs. Made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before her mind rebelled, recalling the faint press of lips against her.

 _He had had too much mead,_ she excused the act. A reason to brush the events under the table and forget. _He acted out of pity, nothing more._

_It was nothing and I shall behave as though nothing happened._

Finally, she pushed into the war room and was relieved he wasn’t there. For all she felt herself once again, she had never been able to deal with Ulfric well. The brief reprieve as she moved from the war room to the main hall gave her time to compose her greeting.

His eyes did not immediately move to her, instead he waited for her to move towards him. Allowed her to keep enough distance to feel comfortable, but close enough that it was clear she was there to speak. Ulfric nodded at her, eyes flicking over, searching for something before he settled.

“You look well. Rested.”

“I feel better,” she responded glad when he showed no inclination to push further. Instead he stood and gestured her to follow, taking the short distance back to the war room. She waited close to the door as he went to a weapon’s rack upon the wall, lifting a great war axe and levelling it down on the table.

“I have a message I need you to deliver to the Jarl of Whiterun. Deliver this axe to Balgruuf the Greater.”

Anwen had to swallow and leant upon the door. She may be no Nord but she knew the customs like any other. This was – this _would_ _be_ an act of war if Balgruuf did not accept. Her mind began puzzling through the different potential outcomes. Few did she like.

Slowly, she entered the room and stood before the weapon. It was old but well-used. A symbol of all Ulfric had done and was capable of. Her fingers ghosted along the hilt unsure how to deal with the knowledge that he wished her to deliver it above any other. “And you are sure about this?”

Ulfric knew Balgruuf, she was sure, but she had probably spoken to the other Jarl most recently. War could do things. Twist peoples mind. Place little doubt that their actions are the correct ones when they would undoubtedly lead to the deaths of many. Anwen took a moment to take a step back, imagine the war from the perspectives of those who supported the Imperials. To them, it was Ulfric who was the monster. It was a heady thought but history had always been written by the winning side.

Balgruuf was a man ready to stand for what he believed was right and she doubted that trying to force his hand was any way to sway him. What other alternative was there? Long chats over mead whilst their men died in battles with the other? There was little option. The war needed somewhere to go, she had listened to Galmar and Ulfric and made her own decisions. They were right about the stalemate and needing to break it. For the sake of the country and more importantly for the sake of the people.

Streets should be safe for villages to walk along, not filled with hidden soldiers and Thalmor ready to incite their personal brand of justice. That wouldn’t happen without a serious push from one side, and apparently that would start with her. Just imagining taking this to Balgruuf, to the hold that had accepted her with little more than the clothes on her back and a message of caution. 

Whiterun was a home in a way that Windhelm had never been. She had chosen it and the hold had chosen her right back. She respected Balgruff and perhaps that would make bearing this burden easier.

Or worse.

“Yes. We have dallied in this fight too long,” Ulfric spoke with the same confidence he always put forth. It was no chance thing that so many troops followed him. “It is time he picked his side.”

This duty he had given her was important, more important than fetching the crown or the skirmishes he sent his other men on. It spoke of respect and trust. Anwen wasn’t sure she wanted it as she slid her hand over the hilt and raised it. “I will do as you bid.”

“Yet you are unhappy about it.”

It wasn’t a question, merely an observation based on the terse line of her mouth. How could she be happy about this? If his plan to recruit the Jarl failed, then it would be her friends blood that paid the price of the war. Ulfric had already resolved that in his mind, accepted that men may down but she hadn’t. What he saw as inevitable she still wished to be avoided.

“Whiterun is my home and I am Balgruuf's thane.”

 _“Windhelm_ is your true home,” the words were low, whispered between them as he stepped closer. Her heart began to pound as his hands moved, not relaxing until they clasped around the axe, not quite touching hers.

Without much force she pulled the axe towards her, not having the strength to contradict him nor the desire for an argument. He opened his palms and let it slip through his fingers. “Be careful. The Jarl has a temper about him.”

She smiled wryly. “I have had my share of experience with angered Jarls.”

Unsure what to expect; anger, laughter, dismissal, she did not expect the pained sigh. “Go then. To Whiterun with you. Do not dally in your return, no matter the response.”

Anwen did as instructed and by the end of the hour, she was on her horse and headed in the direction of Whiterun. She stroked the fur of the beast and whispered to him.

“Let us make great speed. Tis a weight on my shoulders I am not happy with.”

As always, Onyx did not let her down.

\----- 

Following the steps leading to Dragonsreach, Anwen was greeted with the same nerves that she had felt many months ago when she first came to warn the Jarl. The message she carried was not too dissimilar now and she had to stop and sigh, taking in all that Whiterun had to offer as she looked down upon it from the raised platform she stood upon.

People carried on with their lives, shopped at the markets, prayed at the temple, Companions fought in the yard of Jorrvaskr. They were safe and protected in those heavy walls and she would be the destroyer of that. There was little doubt in her mind. Ulfric might think Balgruuf would be swayed by this show but it would be the opposite. In the conversations she had had on the topic with Balgruuf, she knew he had been slowly siding towards their Empire.

Jorrvaskr called to her. Inside were her shield-brothers and sisters. They did not deserve to be thrust into the middle of this. As Harbinger she _should_ be staying out of this. She could imagine Vilkas’ chastisement and smiled at that. It had been too long again since she had returned and she knew she must be the worst choice. Ulfric’s axe sat heavily upon her back and slowly she drew herself together with enough strength to enter Dragonsreach.

The weight on her back was worse than it had been coming here to summon a dragon. From across the room, the Jarl nodded to her but her jaw was tense. Everything about her spoke of warning, enough so for Irileth to move to stop her, standing between the two of them, her hand to the hilt of her weapon subtly and demand, “What business have you here, dragonborn?” 

Her expression was sour and Anwen took no joy as she lifted the axe, quick enough to lay it flat across her arms. She was not here to make war today.

Balgruuf's face paled considerately, “That is Jarl Ulfric's war axe.”

Anwen nodded and held her chin even when she wished to speak. The message itself was enough. She watched as the three parties argued and she hoped that Proventus would be listened to but the die was already cast.

“But I'm serious too,” Balgruuf concluded before turning back to Anwen, eyes hard and steeled. “Return that to Ulfric. I have business to attend.”

“Jarl Balgruuf,” her hands gripped around the axe handle. She shouldn’t but she couldn’t stay quiet. “Please. Reconsider this course of action.”

He laughed at her and rose, anger lining his eyes and his steps as he moved closer to her. “And where will you be? Beside your fellows or knocking down my door? The dragonborn has sworn no oath to the Empire or the Stormcloaks and yet here you are with _Ulfric's_ axe.”

Placing the axe upon her back, she straightened. “My loyalties lie with Jarl Ulfric.”

“Then you are more a fool than I could have expected. Go. _Leave._ Tell Ulfric if it's a war he wants, it will be a war he gets.”

And Anwen did, brushing past the guards who now looked down their noses upon her. Divines, that hurt. Instead of going straight to the gate, she first entered Jorrvaskr. The smell overtook her senses, made her warm and she longed to simply sit down amongst the others but she was committed now. She would see this through to the end.

“Farkas,” she greeted for he was the one sitting at the table, a leg of meat currently in his hand as he glanced up, standing when he saw her posture. For once, she didn't tell him to relax. “I need speak to you and the circle. Gather them quickly.”

It spoke of his loyalty that he did not question, immediately heading to the yard with great pace. Anwen needed that time to steel herself but it wasn’t enough. Only a moment later Vilkas and Aela joined Farkas, forming a line opposite her, waiting expectantly. How could she ask them this? Divines, how could she protect them?

“Harbinger,” Vilkas greeted eyes considering her. “It is good to see you in better health.”

That hit her. Her shield-siblings had been helping when she had been injured and she had left them as readily as she had left Lydia. She lowered her head, a small bow in recognition. She would explain but she had to move. Had to get back to Windhelm. “Jarl Ulfric will march on Whiterun,” she told them plainly. Farkas' fire was obvious, as was Aela's but Vilkas, even with sneering in disgust, kept himself calm.

“We have no place in this civil war, Harbinger,” Vilkas reminded her, tone pointed and eyes sharp.

“I need you to stay in Jorrvaskr. Whatever you hear, I need you to remain neutral in this.” 

Aela picked the note in her voice, “Unlike yourself?”

“Ulfric and I,” she let her gaze drift to the fire pit. “We have a long history. Longer than my bonds to the Companions and longer still than this war. I cannot abandon him now.”

Her words seemed to sap some of the frustration in Vilkas. They were people of honour and respect and if she had loyalties, they would accept them, even if they didn’t like it. For one second, she thought about giving it all up, removing herself from the Companions but the mere thought sliced through them. They might not need her but she needed them. They were her friends and family.

That said, Vilkas’ questioning gaze was not enough for her to enlighten them upon the link that lay between her and Ulfric. Considering how she came to Whiterun, she imagined it was not the easiest thing to swallow without explanation.

Vilkas tried. “I – I cannot ask you to break such bonds,” he spoke plainly but his eyes wanted to. Vilkas sought out information at every turn and she was denying him. She gave him a subtle nod of her head, a promise to explain later. Another time. “We will do as you ask, Harbinger. May the Gods be with you.”

 “Keep the whelps inside. My housecarl will also be joining you. If, however, any fool be them Imperial or Stormcloak breaches the sacred doors of Jorrvaskr, you show them their demise. Understood?”

“Aye,” Aela's gaze darkened. “We will.”

Anwen did not want to leave. These people were family to her but she had given her allegiance to Ulfric, had done so far before she had ever set foot within Whiterun. It took her a few minutes to secure some belongings in Breezehome before she ordered Lydia to Jorrvaskr. An argument ensued but the housecarl ultimately did as was bid of her.

By the time she found herself back on her horse, she felt drained enough to sleep. But she could not. Not with the weight of war on her shoulders. With one heavy glance back at Whiterun, she encouraged her steed onwards towards Windhelm.

\-----


	19. Chapter 19

 

No one batted an eye at her approach and that sank into her. Anwen had all but given up her home in Whiterun mere hours ago but there was comfort in Windhelm. It was disconcerting to feel accepted in a city where certain inhabitants had once sneered on her. Memories could be short-lived when required, she thought as she neared the heart of the city. How had it come to this? She shook her head as she moved quickly to her destination.

The doors to the Palace were opened before her, a guard she vaguely recognised easing her path. She thanked him with her eyes but was sobered when she turned and saw Ulfric. He was on his throne as always but Galmar had returned, was discussing something with him. The sound of the door shutting behind her reverberated around the room, his eyes shooting up and fixing upon her. Galmar kept speaking, Ulfric returning his comment but his eyes were unmoving. There was little doubt that he could see the axe firmly on her back; cumbersome and out of place on her smaller physique. The moment she lay it at his feet, he let out a tired sigh.

“I was wrong about him.”

Anwen bit her tongue. Her mind had made its mind before she left the city but her heart – her heart was still struggling. As Ulfric turned to Galmar she let her shoulders slump a little, still feeeling the weight bearing down on her.

"You were right, Galmar."

"Again?"

"I'm in no mood to joke."

  
"Give the word, my lord, and Whiterun is yours."

"Whiterun is only a means to an end."

  
"I've toured our camps. We're ready, Ulfric... Whenever you are."  


“Is any man ever ready to give the order that will mean the deaths of many?" 

She was only half-listening but the words pulled at her. She had thought him immune to the pain she currently felt. In an instant she was pulled back into the past, memories of phantom fingers trailing down her spine as she listened to him speak.

“ _You seem troubled, my Jarl,” she commented lifting her face from where it had rested on her hands, their chests still panting, sweat cooling on their skin. His face was blank, staring in the distance._

_“Have you ever seen a battle, Arla?” he asked already knowing the answer. “Tasted the blood in the air? Watched as comrades fell to enemy blades? Held a dying man?”_

_Slowly, subtly, she moved her body onto his, leaning against his chest. One hand came around her, holding close as the other trailed down her spine, a never ending loop of swirls._

_“I have,” he continued without truly waiting for her reply. “I fought for the Empire on foreign soil, watched good men lose their lives for something they had no place in. The Empire betrayed us, our sacrifice for nought and now our rulers are under thumb of the Dominion.”_

_She had heard similar things. There were few in Windhelm who had anything but dislike for the Dominion and many who used that as reason to distrust the Empire too. It had been bubbling long before she arrived in the city._

_“I cannot let this go on. The people of Skyrim deserve a ruler who cares for them, not one that bows to someone on a foreign throne.”_

_“And who would that be?” she asked, not trying to provoke, just needing to know. He spoke with such passion and his arguments were compelling._

_The light shifted in his eyes, returning him to her from wherever his mind had been trapped. “A true Nord. Tell me, Arla, do you think we can do it? Set this country free from the Imperial chains that bind us?”_

_“You could succeed where no other could,” she told him honestly, letting a tiny glimpse of her feelings out, unable to bury them under such scrutiny. “No one could stand against you.”_

_“I imagine there are a few,” he smiled and then it fell from his face. “I leave for Solitude tomorrow.”_

_She knew, of course, had known for a few days now. She might not be an important person but people let things slip information around her. It didn’t show on her face, at least, she didn’t think it did. He brought his hand to her face, stroking her cheek._

_“Things will change,” he told her. “Will you stand on my side?”_

_“Always,” she exhaled and he pulled her up, lifting her body so that they seared together, moving so he was encompassing her entirely, hovering over her._

_“Whatever the outcome, I would see you on my return,” he murmured into her ear and she shuddered under him._

_“Whatever your wish.”_

_“My wish,” he murmured, something unhappy in his voice but before she could question, his lips were back on her and conversation ceased._

Anwen shook off the memory and exhaled lowly. Remembering how it felt when he spoke of his cause, the passion and hurt he felt for his people she felt reaffirmation of why she had once so completely believed in his cause.  Even now, it was not solely her hatred for the Thalmor that had her siding with the Stormcloaks. Galmar’s steady voice pulled her back into the conversation.

"No. But neither is every man able to give that order when he must. But you are that man, Ulfric. You've been that man before, and you'll be him again. And these men and women―they call themselves Stormcloaks because they believe in you. They are the meanest, toughest sons of bitches Skyrim has to offer. And they want this. They want this as much as you do. Perhaps, they want it more."

She was not quite prepared for Ulfric’s gaze to descend upon her, to feel the depth of it, or for how he considered her in his response, “You're certain we're ready? Whiterun's army will no doubt be bolstered with Legionnares. And those walls around Whiterun are old, but they still stand.

  
"We are ready. And I might be old myself, but I'll kick those damn walls down with my bare feet―if you would only ask me to do it!"

  
"Ha. And I'm sure you could do it, too,” he chuckled but his steeled blue eyes had yet to stray from Anwen. “And what say you in this? Are you ready to fight for the Stormcloaks? To fight for me?” 

The Breton had resolved herself to this. It was the right thing to do and she would face the task without wavering. Her heart was still pained. There were people she cared about there and she sent a prayer to them before straightening. “I will,” he went to turn but her voice was fast in continuing. “But woe betide any and all who attack Jorrvaskr. Tell your men to keep clear.”

“So, the Companions remain neutral in this?” Galmar asked with a hint of derision.

“As is there place,” she reminded narrowing her eyes at the old bear. 

“We have no quarrel with the Companions,” Ulfric’s words relieved her heart in a way she hadn’t hoped or expected.

“Then I will fight for you, my Jarl.”

It seemed to relieve tension from the Jarl's shoulders that she had not noticed, caught in her own contemplation. The room was silent, waiting and she held her breath as he let out his.

“Alright. This is it."

"Yes!"

  
“Send the word. ‘A new day is dawning and the sun rises over Whiterun.’"

"Aye, and the sons of Skyrim will greet that dawn, teeth and swords flashing."

“So it begins."

Galmar left immediately to begin preparations and even with their talk of new dawn, it would be a few days before they stormed the gates yet. She considered throwing herself into the yard to train or trying to enchant her armour.

Ulfric stood and collected the weapon, moving to the war room and she did not follow. Her time was her own and she needed to prepare, mentally if nothing else for besieging the hold that she held so dear.


	20. Chapter 20

 

Anwen had bathed, eaten and managed to catch a few hours of rest between returning to Windhelm and the decision reaching her ears of how they were to attack. Anwen knew that she needed to know it but that didn’t stop her feeling apprehension. They were to head out in three days’ time, march to the Pelagia farm camp and at first light carry on to Whiterun. The men, from what she could see, seemed ready. Perhaps even eager. It reminded her that this was not her alone. She would be fighting alongside others.

She was about to head to the yard to train; she was not blind to how it boosted their morale, how they fought harder when they had the Dragonborn at their side. In the back of her mind she wondered if she could have swung the war as easily had she joined the Empire. It was a heavy thought that she quickly pushed away. It didn’t matter. She had made her bed and would lay in it and fight for what she believed in and she _did_ believe in Ulfric’s cause; it was hard not to after having experienced Thalmor justice first-hand.

Anwen only made it half way across the hall when a familiar figure stepped inside. His shoulders were tight and he looked like shit.

“Ralof!” she greeted, calling out and he perked noticeably, letting his fellows trudge back to the barracks alone. As she approached, he held his arms out and she beamed, wrapping her arms around him. There were few enough people she had known before who she still cared to speak with but Ralof was one of them. He had always been kind to her and helped her in some of her more dire situations. He squeezed her once before releasing, nodding at her. “Are you only just getting back from Korvanjund? Did you crawl?”

“Aye. Nothing to do with the extra orders that we received half way back that had us scouting Pelagia to ensure it was still secure.”

She twitched her nose and he chuckled. “Are you joining us for the battle?”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching his back she got to see the definition of muscles often hid in their armour. “I imagine so. Need to check in with Galmar first.”

“It'll be good to have a friend at my back.”

“Back, front, side, wherever. You only have to say the word.”

She slapped his arm in warning. “Letch.”

There was a comment on his lips but it died as he straightened and looked over his shoulder. “Jarl Ulfric.”

“I am continuously impressed with reports I hear regarding you, Ralof,” the Jarl told him and Anwen blinked, letting her brows rise such direct praise.

“Thank you, my Jarl.”

“If you'll excuse the Dragonborn and I, I wish to speak to with Anwen.”

Without hesitation, the man nodded and carried on his journey. Anwen pursed her lips but followed as she was guided into the small war room. Ulfric did not do as he usually did, he did not go to the table and spread his arms across it, staring down upon the pieces. Instead he leant against it, watching her.

“You are ready for battle?” he asked her and she rolled her eyes. Rather than bite, he added. “It is not easy to fight those we call friend.”

Anwen bowed her head in recognition. This battle would be harder than the others. If it were Vampires, giants, trolls or witches she faced, it wouldn’t be a question. There would be people on the walls that she knew. Some she would have broken bread with, shared a pint with, perhaps even fought beside.

There was no quick remark she could fire back to that. She only hoped those she took down where Imperials and that the other's in the army would take out the Whiterun natives that had picked up arms to defend their homes.

Instead, she settled for light humour. “I hope your catapults miss my house.”

“You have a house?”

“I have many,” she told him plainly, wary at the conversation the moment it strayed from battle plans to more personal topics, however much she had guided it there. The last time it had, well, she was still unsure what to think of _that_ night.

“You head out soon with Galmar. Have dinner with me tonight.”

Anwen's stomach flipped and dropped in quick succession. She did not know how to take the suggestion, not entirely sure that it was one. He did not push, waiting patiently. It was certainly different from how such requested used to be delivered to her. A part of her mind reminded her of her terms for joining his cause, and she inwardly sighed. She had first demanded that he not talk to her and yet she had broken that as often as he. It was impossible to ignore him, at least whilst she worked for him. It was also becoming increasingly hard to hate him, or even dislike him strongly. Every time she did, her mind was happy to throw up images; him holding her in the dark as she wept, coming to collect her from the snow personally, of the concern for her and anger at Wuunferth when he had thought the mage had been hurting her. It was a barrage that was weakening the wall that held back parts of her old life best left forgotten.

It seemed that her options for simply shutting him down with a refusal were thin. 

“Why?”

Ulfric smirked as if it had been the response he expected. “I wish to talk to you. All our conversations seem to end half-finished. I would wish to actually speak with you. I have always enjoyed your companionship, Anwen.”

She snorted but it was only a show to prevent him from seeing the raging the war between her heart and her mind and whilst they were battling, her lips betrayed her, “Okay.”

The smile was not predatory as she had expected but honest and glad. And that was unfair. She could defend herself against his barbs and many things beside but honesty and openness was a step too far.

The agreement was there, however, and she did not go back on her word.

\----- 

Anwen felt as tense as a board as she approached the Jarl's door. She chastised herself for it. After all she had done: slaying dragons, killing Alduin, holding her head high as she approached the axemen, and it was staring down the Jarl’s door that had her legs trembling and hand hesitating.

 _It is just dinner,_ she reminded herself, forcing her hand to knock.

“Come in,” the call was not hard and she opened the door. Ulfric was sat at the table, already dressed with a selection of foods, and his eyes flickered to hers only briefly before he gestured to the seat opposite him.

Steadying herself, she did so, gently pouring herself a goblet of wine as Ulfric started taking food onto his plate. “Sifnar was frustrated at my request for a private meal until I told him you were to be my guest. He has a soft spot for you.”

Focusing on the food for now, she smiled. “I help out when I can.”

“So I have heard. Jorleif was _disgruntled_ that you were doing such.”

Anwen rolled her eyes. “And yet he never complained before. In fact, I remember him praising the apple pie _I_ had made. Though he didn’t know that at the time. Perhaps he wouldn’t have eaten it had he.”

Ulfric's brow knitted together. “When was that?”

“You cannot expect me to remember the date?” she shook her head taking a bite of food and chewing. “At least two years ago.”

“You've been helping out in the kitchens so long?” there was disbelief in his voice that made her happy. He did not know everything and that gave her a thrill.

“Ryda,” she smiled sadly at the memory of the gentle old woman who had been in the kitchens when she first came into the palace. Offered her help getting out when she had gotten muddled leaving the barracks. Anwen remembered those first few arrays in the Palace with flamed cheeks. She hadn’t been prepared for what that step would mean a few short weeks later. “I saw her carrying a stack of plates. Her hands were shaking and they looked about to fall. I helped and after that whenever I had time I would do the odd job.”

“You -” Ulfric's voice was soft until he caught it. When he spoke next it was gruffer. “If Sifnar had told me I would have hired them more help.”

“Sifnar is a stubborn old man,” she chuckled and took a sip of wine. “He only asked after Ryda died because he had no choice.”

They fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as their focus switched to eating. The food was good and the company felt pleasant. It was the first time in a long time that she had felt at such ease. Even before she left initially, so long ago now, she was often on edge, wondering who might come to her for companionship.

It was a simpler life, particularly after she had settled into her routines in the palace. Jorleif was the one who arranged things on the Jarl's behalf. She would receive a missive and be directed to a room. Jorleif would pay her after the fact. She had been proud to carry her own weight in the harsh world she had found herself in. For a young woman with very little skill save what she had learnt on the farm, things could have ended far worse.

Finishing her plate of food, she pushed those thoughts away. She didn't do that anymore. Not for anyone. She would not regret what she had done but she would not tread that path anew. When her gaze flickered up, Ulfric was watching her.

“Galmar tells me about your magic. I had not known.”

Raising her hand, she let lightning crackle around it, not threatening, purely a display. Closing her fist again, it dissipated and Ulfric's gaze was shrewd but not angered or distrustful as many Nords were around magic. She suspected it was hardly his first exposure to it. “Given my parentage, is that truly a surprise?”

“No,” he admitted and leant back in his chair, elbows on the arms and fingers interwoven just under his chin. “Though it does make me question why you never became not some Court Wizard like Wuunferth. Or an alchemist. If his long past gripes are anything to go on, you have had that skill for a long time.”

Letting her gaze fall to the fire, she chuckled but it was a sad sound. “I learnt the little alchemy I did then as a matter of survival. I could not afford the price of necessary potions _and_ food.” She did not want to look at him then. He had provided her with childsbane voluntarily but most did not. For most, it was her responsibility what happened to her body after the fact. “And I only knew a little magic when I first came to Windhelm. Mostly for show, to scare any who came too close. Neither of my parents ever learnt the craft so I had none to teach me.”

“Why not travel to Winterhold? Get accepted into the college?”

“Passage is not a cheap thing,” she told him, glancing at him she saw the eyes of someone who knew what it was to be truly destitute. Ulfric had never known the pain of a stomach so empty it turned against you. Never known the fear as your body began to waste away before your eyes. Never known the strife of trying to find somewhere sleep at night, and having to choose safety over warmth and comfort. Some of that lit over her face, in her distant eyes. “My life has not been an easy one.”

Ulfric gaze was intense as he sat forwards. He was studying her, taking in the new knowledge. Before such topics were taboo but now they weren’t. Something had shifted between them and she didn’t know when or why or even if she liked it. “What of your parents? Why did they not provide for you until you were wed? I find it difficult to believe you did not have suitors.”

Anwen wanted to turn away from this topic. She felt her heart clenching at the memories that she buried. The hardest years of her life were not when she was walking amongst the Imperials and not even her fear and pain under the Thalmor had rivalled the agony she had gone then, too young to fully understand the ways of the world. “My parents were killed. Bandits raided my home. My mother hid me but then she -” the word hung and she swallowed. “I was left alive but with nothing else. Anything of value had been taken. They burned our fields so I hadn’t even that to sell.”

“ _Anwen_ -”

“Please,” she murmured after silence had been allowed to reign for a minute, before he could ask her what happened next. “Let us talk of other things.”

The sound of a chair pushing out across wooden floors made her flinch but she kept her gaze to the flames until he came into her vision. He crouched before her and gently manoeuvred her chin until their eyes met. 

“What do you want, Ulfric?” she asked, voice cracking and she felt tears looming, was barely able to hold them back.

When he pulled back, sat on his heels, she felt the betraying warmth flow down her cheek. She wasn’t sure if it was relief or desperation. His eyes – she could deal with many things but the pain in his eyes would be her undoing. He took her hand in his and soothed away a little of the pain as he brushed his fingertips over her knuckles.

“I won’t deny that your past was horrific,” his voice was soft, gentle and calming. “You have gone through more strife than any individual should have to and yet you sit across from me now and you are a sight to behold. No one else would have the strength to keep their head up and continue to fight.”

Her voice hitched at the unexpected kindness and the simple understanding. “If you ever wish to speak of your family, to honour them and me by letting their stories be told, I would be glad to listen.”

She clenched her eyes shut and against her better judgement, leant forwards to kiss his forehead in thanks when no words would come out. He made no move to push further, did not try to coerce her in any way. He simply sat before her and waited for her breathing to even and the stabbing in her heart to abate.

When she finally blinked her eyes open, he held her gaze, brushing the tears off of her face with the pad of his thumb. There wasn’t anything she would not tell him if he had asked in that moment and it scared her. Scared her enough to pull back from the warmth and understanding he was offering. He let her go as she sat backwards in the chair, keeping his place before her.

“I would like to get some rest now.”

Her voice was small and she felt younger from the way it tilted. Ulfric’s face remained unchanged as he stood and offered his hand. It was respectful. “Of course,” he walked her to the door. No demands. No ifs and buts. Just her decision respected. “I would have you join me for dinner again, whenever you wish.”

Anwen wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that but she smiled, letting go of his hand and feeling something begin to shift, a weight lifting. “Goodnight Ulfric.”

“And you, Anwen.”

The walk back to her room was made on quaking legs and more than once she glanced back to the door she retreated from and she _wondered_.


	21. Chapter 21

 

It was early morning, sleep not finding her well after unearthing more memories from the past. Her troubles kept her tossing and turning but she refused to give into them and leave the bed before the first light. It left her groggy as she splashed her face with cold water, dressed, and headed out to the training yard. The morning was too young to expect to find another soul and yet there he was, swinging his Warhammer at a poor training dummy, almost cleaving it in two with a particularly powerful swing.

The muscles of his arms rippled, sweat lining his face and she admired his physique. Ralof had earnt his place and was a good leader of men as well as a good person. She was truly glad that of all the people of her past, he was one still in it. A few minutes of watching had her announce her presence with a low whistle.

“Impressive.”

Ralof turned with an easy smile, exaggerating a bow. “Nothing compared to you, my lady,” he stood the axe against the wooden remains of the dummy and stepped towards her, whisking her into a hug. She laughed as he lifted her, squeezing the breath out of her, whacking him on the arm.

“Put me down,” she chuckled, “You’re all sweaty.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” he returned but did settle her down and step back, considering her with open interest. “Armour suits you.”

Anwen lowered her head in acknowledgement. More often than not she would stick to distance fighting and wear her robes to allow extra freedom of movement but that had not been her aim heading to the yard that day. She needed to practice hand-to-hand. Fighting in a city was hardly going to give her ample distance from her enemies.

His eyes lingered over the outline of her chest and she flicked his arm for the trouble.

“Hey,” he objected but raised his hands at her stern look. It was good to not have something so heavy to discuss with him. It reminded her of their time searching for the Jagged crown. He certainly had a way of making her relax and forget about the danger, if only for a minute. “I only meant to compliment you.”

“And for that I thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself,” she returned easily moving over to a weapons rack and picking two daggers up; testing their weight and spinning them in her hands. “I could inquire as to why you hadn’t been snapped up by some lovely young thing by now, if I wished to hear about your conquests.”

He snorted and returned to his weapon, preparing to spar with her without having to be asked. “Ulfric keeps me too busy for that and I don’t want the nagging. That’s what wives do, isn’t it? Nag?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she returned rolling her shoulders. “But if you did not change your ways, I can imagine so.”

They began to circle each other, considering the other’s footings. “What about ‘my ways’ would require changing?” he feigned mock offence and she huffed a breath at him.

“For nothing else, you need a bath.”

Ralof struck out first, a wide sweeping arc that she had to jump backwards from. He grinned at her as she repositioned herself, “You offering? I’d certainly jump into the water if I knew you were going to scrub my back.”

Anwen set at him with a quick array of hits that he had to defend with the shaft of his hammer, by the time he countered, she was well out of the range of his swing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” his last words before they devolved into a series of heavy parries and ripostes. He had reach but she had speed. His swings were strong and more than once she applied magic; a gust of air, knocking him off balance.

The third time it happened and he landed on his backside, his gaze narrowed. “Cheat.”

She holstered her weapons and went over to him, offering a hand. “All is fair in war.”

Realising what he was about to do a second too late, she found herself pulled down and trapped beneath his body, her weapon unsheathed and pressed against her neck, blade turned traitor in his grip. “The full saying is, ‘all is fair in _love_ and war’.”

There was a twinkle in his eye and she saw the shift, the glint of want that turned away from their usual banter. “Are you staying there all day?”

“I could think of a few reasons to,” he mumbled and her jaw clenched.

“ _Ralof_ ,” it was a slight warning as the blade was thrown to the side and his thumb began to massage the wrist he had trapped with his body. Her heart was pounding and she was already starting a spell when she repeated, one last warning, “Ralof. Stop this.”

He shook his head at her tone and warmth crept into his neck as he sat back on his haunches, rubbing his neck. “I guess I won.”  

She huffed, relaxing a little with more space between them. He had listened to her. “You wouldn’t have won if I weren’t trying to help you up. And you call me a cheat.”

He laughed a little awkwardly, rolled his shoulders, and offered her hand. Shaking off that fear that had crept into her spine, she accepted feeling even better when he released her the second she was on two feet and wandered back to the training dummies.

She moved to a weapon stand, depositing her blades, the desire to spar further having fled with the unexpected turn of events. Her stomach was uneasy and she felt the need to speak moving closer as to not shout the words but keeping her gaze on the floor as he kept his on his Warhammer.

“Ralof, I’m not like that anymore,” she murmured hating that she needed to say it and he released a rush of air from between his lips.

“I know and I wasn’t asking,” he told her sincerely, turning his face to meet hers. “Is it so hard for you to believe someone might want you for more than just your body?”

She punched him in the arm because she could and because she needed to. “Not when I’m being pinned to the ground, no.”

He rolled his eyes at her and conversation of others began to filter into their space, a quick glance showing the other soldiers lining up to prepare for the coming battle. Anwen stepped off without a goodbye and was surprised to see Galmar as she reached the door, nodding at him as she carried on.

The old bear stopped her, hand moving like lightening to wrap around her wrist, squeezing. “It would be better for everyone,” he said without turning his gaze to her, keeping it on where the men readied to train before him. “If you let that boy in.”

Her brow furrowed and she pulled her arm free from his grasp. He let her go easily. “What are you talking about?”

Now he turned to her, warning so clear in his eyes it was impossible to ignore. “He’s a good lad and would treat you well. _Honest_. You’d be his world.”

Before she could question further, he was striding to the middle of the men and shouting orders. Anwen took a deep breath, watched him for a few minutes and then shrugged it off. Galmar had never liked her. Maybe he was making an effort. She doubted it.

It wasn’t the time to think about anything other than the upcoming battle. So she didn’t. Instead, she threw herself into preparation and spent the final days before they left exhausting her body so her mind hadn’t the energy to weigh on her. She needed to focus.   

\----

They left at dawn the next day.

Anwen was a mess of aches.

Anwen’s arms were sore from training with Galmar and his men and her mind ached from a session with Wuunferth on magic. She had been warding or casting in some way or form for an hour until she was completely depleted and Wuunfeth was satisfied that she wouldn’t come back a bleeding mess a second time.

If it wasn’t for her stomach, she might already have dropped on her bed even mid-afternoon as it was, but the call of food was greater. She almost regretted training so hard over the past two days but she felt better for pushing herself. It also had the added benefit of meaning she hadn’t had to deal with Ulfric or Ralof. And she still wasn’t sure what to think about the latter.

She was mulling her thoughts over her glass of mead when a weight dropped down beside her.

“Anwen,” he greeted stealing some food from her abandoned plate.

“Ralof,” she returned cocking a brow as he chased it down, stealing the goblet from her hands.

When he was done, wiping the back of his mouth on his hand, he turned to face her properly. “I need to apologise.”

At this she rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, Ralof.”

“It isn’t,” he sighed and robbed a hand over his face. “You deserve better than that.”

“And what is it that I deserve?” she queried uncertain where this was going. “You really don’t have to explain, Ralof. I know desire when I see it.”

“You know, when news spread here that you had died, it hit a lot of people. Some of them shrugged it off but others it stayed with. Ulfric didn’t speak to anyone but Galmar for a week, Sifnar only made apple pies, and there was a lot of drinking. _I_ did a lot of drinking.”

The statement hit her like a blow. She hadn’t considered that others might have thought of her, been affected by her disappearance, that Ulfric had closed off too. She didn’t know what to make of it.

He closed his hand around hers and pulled her back to him. “I felt guilty. Divines help me, I’m the one who brought you here. If I hadn’t, you’d never have met Ulfric, never have been sent away, if I hadn’t –“

She shushed him, squeezing his hand. “It isn’t your fault, Ralof.”

He took in a deep breath and nodded, “I know that you thought you were nothing but you helped a lot of people. I know about the bread you smuggled out to those on the street, about Sifnar and, well you deserved better than to be thrown to the wolves.”

She lowered her head and had to breathe in deep breaths. Honestly, she didn’t need this before a battle. Wasn’t sure she could relive this again so soon after the last time.

Ralof sighed and carefully moved her head up, forcing her eyes to meet his. “What I meant to say is, I’m sorry for being an ass. You’re a good person and a good friend and I won’t try anything again. Not unless you want me to. Do you want me to?" 

“I can’t,” she breathed the exhale, closing her eyes. Ralof deserved a nice girl to settle down with who would provide him strong sons and give him a reason to fight. She wasn’t that girl. More than that, she cared about him deeply but that didn’t mean she loved him. Not like that. It wouldn’t be fair on either of them. “I am sorry, Ralof.”

“Hey,” he soothed and smiled. The sight broke her. This was why she hadn’t bothered with relationships. She didn’t want anyone, herself included, getting hurt and it always seemed so damn inevitable. “It was always a long shot. I can take rejection. What I want to – need to – know is can we still be friends?”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Yes, please.”

He held her back a minute, squeezing. When she sat back, she needed to lighten the mood. Neither of them needed this before battle. “Does this mean no more innuendos?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He waggled his brow as he stood and she copied the movement, done with her late lunch. She was ready to leave when he caught her in another embrace, kissing her forehead and she sighed into it. Ralof was her friend.

“Get off you great buffoon,” she chuckled pushing him away. He went with a wave and Anwen retreated to her room, heart a little less heavy and mind a little more content.

\----

Anwen spent the remaining time that evening preparing for the journey, sorting out her pack, cleaning her armour and deciding on what weapons to take with her before finally she went out to the stables to groom and see to Onyx. She took her time, enjoying the routine and the fresh air, trying not to think about where she was heading come morning.

It was as she was heading back to her room that she saw Ralof heading to Ulfric’s. It wasn’t any of her business, she knew, and yet still she waited until the door clicked shut and took slow steps towards the room, ear pressed against the wood.

“ – know why I called you here,” Ulfric spoke and his voice was low, unhappy.

“No, my Jarl.”

There was an annoyed sigh. “Anwen.”

“What about her, my Jarl?”

“Let us stop being foolish. I know that you have grown close. You will not pursue her.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard,” Ulfric growled and Anwen bit back her anger. How dare he? What right had he to discuss her? “She is too important.”

There was a long moment where Anwen waited, wanted to hear Ralof say something to remind Ulfric this was not his place and when nothing came she stormed back to her room, blood boiling.

Of all the things he could have done, that Ulfric had called Ralof to discuss her, to warn him away – why? She paced, she clenched and unclenched her fists and tried hopelessly to calm down. In the end, she couldn’t. Not like this.

Instead, she stormed out of her room and to the Jarl’s, banging on the door not caring if he was alone or not. When he opened the door, he took one look at her face and stepped aside, crossing his arms.

“Anwen.”

“How dare you?” she turned on him, pushing her hands against his chest to shove him. “How dare you speak of me like that? What does it matter to you who I fu-“

The word was cut off by his lips against hers, hard and heavy. She gasped and shoved him away but his hands had caught her wrists, prevented her moving more than a foot back from him. “What in the divines do you think you are –“

“Do you love him?” Ulfric asked, eyes pointed, heart pounding against her hands where he kept them trapped against his chest. “Tell me you love him and I will go find Ralof this second and tell him I was wrong.” 

“Ulfric,” she tried to get away but his grip was tight. “How can you ask that?”

Without breaking eye contact, he released one wrist, using his hand to slide behind the back of her neck, lighting a fire within her that coiled through her, pulling her closer to him. The movement was gentle, his hands soft.

“I know how I feel,” he breathed against her skin, leaning down to murmur into her ear. “I saw you in the throne room, had to listen to Galmar describe what happen in the training grounds, telling me to let it happen but I couldn't. I can't and I have to act. So tell me, do you love him?”

“What does it matter if I do?” she demanded fingers gripping into the fabric off his tunic, heart running away, a marathon in her chest. “Why do you care?”

“I love you,” he breathed and there was not fighting the damn that broke loose in her chest, the tear that sprang forth as he brushed loose hair behind her ear. “Do you love him?”

Blinking away the moisture, she stared into grey eyes, saw the agitation there. “I do not,” she exhaled and then he was on her, lips burning against hers and it spread through her. She felt as though she were on fire everywhere they met, like she was set to explode and she broke the kiss, gasping as he pulled her closer still to his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

A long minute passed and she couldn’t wade through the blaring thoughts in her mind. Couldn’t do anything but breathe his scent, heavy in the room. It was all-encompassing, threatened to crush her and then he stepped away. His hand the last thing to separate from her hip.

“I apologise for offending you,” he murmured and the words seared through her. “You are right that it was not my place to do so. I will not justify my actions further than I already have.”

Anwen nodded something constricting painfully tightly around her heart. “I understand,” she allowed hands almost shaking as she wrapped them tightly around her chest. The space between them felt like a chasm. “If what you say is true, I understand. I _don’t_ _agree_ but I understand.”

“It is true,” he told her and the words were heavy and she was unable to doubt them. “But you do not need any more distractions tomorrow. You should rest.”

He was offering her an out and she couldn’t believe it. Ulfric was a man of action, a man who saw what he wanted and took it. This went against every part of that. “Yes,” she hesitated taking a step to the door, body shaken to the core.

“Anwen,” he didn’t come close again, kept the distance between them. “If you have questions –“

She nodded without turning. “When I return. Goodnight, Ulfric.”

“Sleep well and may Talos guide you in the coming days.”

It took a long time for Anwen to find sleep that night.


	22. Chapter 22

 

Anwen’s focus was destroyed. Her mind constantly flickering through everything she knew and everything she felt, trying to come to turns with what had happened. What it meant and what she was willing for it to mean were considered carefully. Without saying as much, Ulfric had made it clear that the decision was hers and that was as puzzling as everything else. Anwen thought that she knew him as well as she could; he was headstrong, arrogant, dedicated and a good leader. And yet, the decision was hers. He was not being forceful or demanding. The space helped clear her mind. There was something intoxicating about being in his presence and being in the fresh air allowed a certain amount of clarity.

He was Ulfric Stormcloak. She had never had any right to him, never had any claim on him. He had treated her poorly once before and she clung to that. Would he do it again? Could she let herself take that chance? She wasn’t sure. The one thing she did know was that she wasn’t the woman she had been. She wouldn’t accept the terms of before, wouldn’t allow herself to.

But what did she want? It was a question with no clear answer. Not as she rode through Skyrim’s tundra, not as she approached Pelagia Farm. When Anwen joined Ulfric she had sworn no fealty to him and made no plans outside helping him end this civil war. She could leave if she wanted to; disappear into the College of Winterhold or with the Companions. Did she want that though? Once she thought she might but now, now she wasn’t sure.

It was all she could occupy her thoughts with as she travelled but when she finally reached the encampment, there was no more room for those thoughts. Not when she could see Whiterun in the distance. It was hard but she pushed everything that she could to brush it all to the side.The camp was already settled, the men she travelled with dispersing to talk amongst the others, eat, drink or sleep but Anwen moved away from the camp to watch the walls of Whiterun. That was her home and she was marching on it.

_It won't be burnt to the ground,_ she reminded herself. _It will still be there when we're done._

War was not a good thing. Anwen understood why it had happened, backed Ulfric's reasoning but it was easier to do that when the blade on her hip, bow on her back and magic within her fingertips weren't on the cusp of taking lives.

The guards in Whiterun would die for what they believed in. Behind her, there would be men who wouldn't be returning home. It was a heavy weight and she was comforted with the knowledge that Ulfric had shouldered that burden too.

\----

 

The air was strong with the stench of blood. In the distance she could still hear the screams of men and women dying, or the agony called forth from loved ones only just finding out. Buildings were burning, some homes destroyed completely. Many had died, more still were wounded or affected by the battle.

And yet it was a victory. She was meant to feel pride to the sight of Balgruuf yielding. Anwen was no fan, even less so when Vignar Grey-mane walked forwards to take his title. Balgruuf was a good Jarl to his people and he didn’t deserve this but there was little she could do. Balgruuf had chosen his side and she hers.

Galmar was happy, the troops were happy, but as she walked through the city on her way back to the stables she saw more than one face that said ‘ _traitor’_. The Stormcloaks had been honourable enough, not taking a blade to the people who hid, or looting the houses as they past. It was the most she could have hoped for.

There was a desire to go to Jorrvaskr but it had suffered no damage and she had not seen a single companion during the fight. She knew that they were well and she was not yet ready for the conversation with Vilkas. One day, but not that day.

Instead she found her way back to Pelagia farm, collected her horse and journeyed to Windhelm. Or at least, that was where she thought she was going. The closer she drew, the more she wanted to pull away and with a split decision, turned her steed to Riften.

Galmar had given her no order this time to report in to Ulfric and for that she was thankful. Anwen somehow doubted that things would be so easy in Windhelm now as they had been before.

Riften was not her favourite city, and the Rift was certainly not her favourite hold. There were too many games in the city on the water. The people were constantly on edge, fearful of the Thieves Guild and Maven Black-briar's influence. Anwen was tempted to do something about her but Brynjolf would not thank her for disposing of the guild's patron.

Anwen went to the Bee and Barb and took a seat in the corner. Keerava brought her a drink and gave her a soft smile before walking away and letting the Dragonborn think. What would happen if she just disappeared? Not just into a different hold but left Skyrim altogether?

Somewhere new where no one knew her face. The thought terrified her, particularly what would happen if her past caught up with her, well away from any friendly faces. She considered High Rock, her mother was from Glenumbra, a city called Wayrest, her father from Evermore. Her mother had told her stories about it when she was a girl and it would be fitting to visit but not to stay. Her blood and body called Skyrim her home.

Anwen was a Breton even if she had never considered herself such outside of her looks. Would her life had been much different if she had been a Nord instead? She doubted that. The drink in her hand was barely touched, instead caught in thoughts of could haves and what ifs.

When the chair pulled out opposite her, she sighed. “Sapphire rat me out?”

A familiar chuckle sounded. “Something like that. You alright? I hadn't expected to still find you here.”

Flickering her eyes to familiar red hair and warm blue eyes she felt a stab of regret. Would her life had been easier if she'd let him love her instead?

“We took over Whiterun,” she told him and he let out an understanding noise. “Balgruuf's no longer the Jarl.” 

“Pity. Always liked him.”

She raised her brow at that and he shrugged. “From afar. Only you are fool enough to actually meddle with the damn Jarls. Speaking of, rumour is you're a Stormcloak now.”

She scoffed at that but shook her head. “I help out here and there but I am no Stormcloak.” 

“Then explain why you've been the guest to the Palace of the Kings these last few months,” he told her with steady, non-judgemental eyes.

“Spying on me?”

“Niranye just passed the message along,” he told her with a shrug. “Also told me some other rumours.”

At that, Anwen dropped her head to the table and let out a huff of despair. Prying the tankard from her hand he sniffed it and swirled. “How many of these have you had?”

“None,” she told him keeping her head on the table. “That's the first.”

“So, you actually found the Jagged Crown?”

That was not the rumour she was expecting and flicked her gaze up, nodding mutely.

“Well that'll help win a moot, if we ever get that far.” When she refused to confer with him further he stood and offered her a hand. “Come on, lass. Let's get you home.”

They walked the few steps to Honeyside together and she did feel better for seeing Brynjolf even if she hadn't spoken of any of the things that troubled her. Iona jumped a foot when they entered together than glowered at them both.

“Why am I always the last to know when you're returning, Thane?” 

Brynjolf chuckled and went over to the table, grabbing a sweet roll and contentedly eating it as Anwen stretched. She was still in her armour and it had been a very, very long day.

“I doubt that she's staying long,” Bryn announced earning the ire of both ladies. “She has a war to help win.”

“Don't go making sense, Bryn.”

“I can see it in your eyes, lass. You know you're going back.”

He was right, of course. There was one reason that she kept going back even with everything between her and Ulfric: his cause. Wars cost lives and the sooner this was put to rest; the sooner Skyrim could return to what it should be.

“Come on, get to bed you look shattered.”

“And leave you in my house to pilfer my belongings?”

“Only your food, now off you trot.”

With a glower and also a smile, she headed to her room. She listened idly to the conversation between the two of them as she readied herself, smiling at Iona's many snide remarks and how easily Brynjolf threw them back or side-stepped them altogether. Riften would never be her home but it was good to see that she had friends there anyway.

If nothing else, the ride to Windhelm would have her arrive in a better state of mind than she currently was. As she lay in bed she decided a few things: her limits, what she was willing to but also what she wanted. It was no lie that his admission was all she could have hoped for a year ago but now everything was different. Although, it wasn’t.

Honestly, Anwen wasn't sure what she was hoping for. Not fully anyway.

\-----

 

With her procrastination in regards to setting off, selling some extra things off, and bartering for books in the Prawned Pawn for the best part of an hour, when she finally approached Windhelm, the sun had already set in the sky. It wasn't late enough yet to hope that she would find the palace asleep. Still, she did not delay her return any longer than she already had.

When she opened the palace doors, she saw immediately that Ulfric was there watching her. She held her head as she moved over to him. Galmar and the others were still not back, no doubt making sure that Whiterun was secure.

“Whiterun is ours,” she told him with the slight bow of her head.

“That is good news,” he told her with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “This is good. Very good. We now control the centre. It's a powerful position. One I aim to keep.”

“What would you have me do now, my Jarl?” 

It was a question spoken with respect but she knew what she was asking. She was asking to be sent away, given another job.

“Stay,” he told her voice low. “Galmar will have more work for you but it'll be a few days before he moves his men west. Stay here until then.”

“As you wish,” she bowed her head again and turned.

A hand wrapped around her wrist and she stilled, not turning as she felt his presence against her back. “Come to me tonight. I wish to speak.”

“ _Ulfric_ ,” she warned voice heavy with uncertainty. Not sure that she was ready yet.

His other hand rested on her hip, “It is not – _will_ not – be like it was before. I promise you that. Just,” he paused to exhale and she clung to it, waiting, feeling her heart pound. “We should speak.”

Her heart was racing as she turned, searching his face, finding that same openness that was her greatest weakness.

“Just talk?”

“If that is all you want,” he promised her, letting go.

With a nod, he returned to his throne and she to her room. It was too late for regret and as she changed she thought about what she needed to know. Everything circled around one thing; trust.

 

\-----

 The time between her entering and exiting her room was over too fast. It felt like she had only chance to change, wash and eat the little her stomach could take before it was late. Late enough for the palace to be going to sleep and for her chat with Ulfric.

Anwen had changed into a simple tunic and whilst her hair was still up she had removed the war-paint. It had already started to flick away and her choices had been to reapply or remove it. It was only paint, she reminded herself, there was no strength to be found behind a mask. 

The floorboards creaked beneath her weight as she headed up to the foreboding door. This time she did not knock, simply slipping inside, letting the click of the latch behind her be her greeting.

Ulfric had been hunched over his desk much like she had found him when she came for help against Alduin. Rolling his shoulders, he took a step back. She noted he was not in his usual heavy coat but a plain shirt and breeches.

“Anwen,” he greeted and she hesitated, unsure if to step forwards.

“Ulfric,” she returned trying best to match his tone.

The Jarl let out a low sigh and moved to stand before the fireplace, leaning against the mantel. “All I ask of you this evening,” he said carefully. “Is to listen to what I say.”

“I can do that, Ulfric,” she stepped forwards but stopped well out of range, resting on the desk he had just moved from. “You wanted to talk to me.”

“I meant what I said when I told you I was a fool to let you go,” he told her but his eyes were cast at the flicker of the flames and she found herself watching them too. Mesmerised. “I had thought myself less attached than I was. I did not think it would affect me when I sent you away.” 

Her knuckles squeezed the table unsure how much faith to put into his words. “And so you did.”

“I did what I needed to,” he was tensing, his frame frustrated but he let it go with a heavy exhale. “Do you know how often I have taken women to my bed?” 

It was not something she particularly wanted to think of, but she had an idea. “A fair few times.”

“I will not deny it,” he flicked his gaze across to her. “More so in my youth when I fought in the wars. Those women were different. They willingly accepted my affections.”

“As did I,” she reminded him. For all that she was, she did have lines, always had a choice.

“Would you have if gold did not line your pockets for the privilege?”

The words hurt her but only because she had opened herself to him. “You know the answer to that.”

“Precisely,” he turned then, met her gaze but kept his distance. “I was never under any illusions of what lay between us. That was why when we needed someone to go behind the enemy lines, that I came to you. It was not wise for me to continue my entanglement with you but I would not stop it whilst you remained.”

“So you sent me away,” she gathered trying to keep a level head even with the demands of her heart thrumming under her skin. “So you would not fall for me?”

He scrubbed his face. “Yes. When the opportunity arose I thought it a simple solution.”

It was too much and she stormed towards him, shoving him hard in the chest. “Rather than tell me how you feel -” she shoved again. He stumbled but made no move to stop her. “ - you left me to the vultures!”

This time when she shoved him, his hands wrapped around her wrists, keeping them against his chest as she felt a tear escape down her cheek. “Would it have killed you to tell me, you blasted fool!”

“Talos help me,” Ulfric's voice was a rumble in the quiet room. “How could I tell you? The most I could offer you – if you would even accept – was to be my mistress. To have you take no other to your bed save me. It was not enough.”

“And now?” she snatched her hands away his touch burning her. He let her go.

“Now, you are the Dragonborn. Things are not as they were.”

“What has changed?” she demanded wanting to laugh at herself for asking but doing it anyway. “What is it you offer me now?”

Taking steps forwards, he grabbed her waist and pulled her against his chest. “I offer you my heart. A place by my side as my equal.” Twice she thumbed her fist into his chest but her heart was twisting and she knew the moisture on her cheeks was from her eyes. _Damn him for making me feel this way!_

“You told me,” he murmured his cheek resting atop her head. “That you loved me once. Tell me now if you think you could do so again.”

This time she did laugh, laugh a sob as she pulled back to meet those steeled blue-eyes only now they weren't steeled. Now they were soft and open and it broke the last resistance she had for him. “Damn you, I still do.”

When he pushed their lips together there was no hesitation before she reciprocated and for the second time, she fell for him.


	23. Chapter 23

“Tell me to stop and I will.” 

It was a challenge but she had no desire to rise to it, not when he pushed his lips against hers again and she felt her need begin to coil in her stomach. A desire she had not felt in so long. She stood at the precipice of the abyss, her mind telling her to both run back and leap into it.

His lips were soft, not demanding and she let herself sink, slid her hands up his chest, let them settle around his neck. Just letting herself free.

When she began to reciprocate in earnest, he let out a guttural noise and kissed her in deeper. Her blood was inflamed as his hands dropped to her waist and slowly moved up. She gasped when he brushed past her breast and he took control of her mouth, their tongues tangling in a familiar rhythm but there was something new within it too.

He pulled back too soon and she made a noise of protest, opening her eyes only to bite her lip at the want in his eyes. He offered her his hand and she took it without hesitation. Pulled into his arms, their lips met with increasing urgency as he walked her to his bed.

She was not idle, her fingers sliding into his clothes, undoing buttons and pressing against his skin. He broke their kiss only to shake off his clothing, the moment his chest was bare, his hands were back upon her, tugging open the fastens of her tunic and sliding it off, his lips pressed biting kisses onto her neck a moment after.

There was a slight breeze in the room she felt on her bare skin only a moment before he pressed her back onto the bed, looming over her. He held her gaze as he pushed his knee between her legs and she opened willingly, feeling a thrum coarse through her entire body where he touched her. His lips found hers again but his hands yanked away her breast band and massaged what lay beneath. The first tweak of her nipple and she keened.

It had been too long since she had felt the press of another man. The feeling was so familiar and yet so foreign but she couldn't protest when his hands found the waist of her breeches and pulled. It was a swift movement that left her completely bare before him. The boots she had worn clanged to the floor as he pulled them and the rest of her clothing off. She sat up on one elbow, watching as he removed his own clothing.

As soon as he had freed himself, she moved forwards, wrapping her hand around him. For one moment he just threw his head back and let her work him. Then he was over again, guiding her down into the sheets.

His hand dropped to the warmth between her legs and she dropped her head back as he brushed skilled fingers against her. His lips came to her breast and she moaned at the feel. It had been so long and he still knew her body and exactly how to bring her to the edge. And when she was there, he withdrew.

She only had a moment to lift her head, ready to complain when he sunk down into her. He filled her, his body pressed against her and there was a slight burn. She gasped and he claimed her lips, a hand on each hip as he started his pace. It was fast and left her panting, her body still at the edge but not quite there. She lifted her legs around him and from one thrust to the next her entire body tensed and she groaned, “ _Ulfric_ ,”

It was like a wave crashing through her but one that lit every inch of her skin on fire. She shuddered as her release rolled out, her arms clutching around his neck, holding to him. As the world came back around her he had pulled back and was watching her.

There were no words to describe how he looked at her. Lifting her hand, she threaded it through his hair and leant up to kiss him. It wasn't like the ones before as she led it. His pace increased, jolted and sporadic before a guttural sound left his throat and he spilled his seed inside her.

She did not break their kiss even after his thrusts stilled or when his hand moved to her face. When he slipped from her, they broke apart to breathe, foreheads pressed together. “Stay,” he told her before she could even think of moving.

And her heart sang but her mind was not yet convinced. The Jarl sighed and moved to the side of her, keeping one hand over her waist.

“I will not stop you,” he told her simply. “But I wish you would.”

She swallowed hard. If it had been a command she could have forced herself away but requests were harder, the inflection in his voice broke through her defences like no one else could and so she turned, towards him instead of away.

Ulfric pressed a kiss into her forehead and pulled the covers up around them and with his arms protecting her, his scent pulling at her and her body thrumming from a release too long in coming, sleep did not take long to find her.

\-------

 

Ulfric did not let her leave his chambers the day after that and Anwen did not protest against him. Whatever walls remained between them in her mind were being broken down with his murmured declarations, his insistent kisses and gentle touches. The Jarl knew her well and he showed that he remembered it all over that time and in return she opened the last parts of her soul that she had kept secure before as she let his love wash over her.

Although he said the words often, she couldn’t yet. This sensation that built within her was too tentative, too new and she was fearful that it wouldn’t last. A feeling that it was a twisted lie. When orders were finally given to her, she was almost glad for the space in her head. It was too much and she needed to think.

And that’s exactly what she did do on the long ride to Falkreath. What she did every moment her mind wasn’t focused on the battle before them. Ralof noticed, sitting beside her but not trying to make conversation as she was caught within her mind. Galmar grunted a few vague insults her way but he couldn’t deny her dedication in battle and that was all that mattered.

Ulfric’s housecarl would never like her, of that she was sure, and as long as she didn’t give him a reason to criticise her ability, he was content. It took the better part of the week to liberate Falkreath and she spilled more than her fair share of blood in that time. She didn’t like the battle but she did like the adrenaline that kept her mind on the then and there, not what was waiting for her when she returned to Windhelm.

Ulfric had told her that they could be equals but she did not know how. His words to her were honest and perhaps he had a plan, perhaps he didn’t. When she was in his arms, sensations overtook her that she hadn’t felt before. The protection, safety and love were blinding and she wanted to let him in, wanted to believe him and trust him.

Anwen decided that she would need time, both with him and away from him. She was open but not blind. It was the last remaining method of her head to keep her heart whole.

She was ready to return to Windhelm this time when Galmar sent her, ready to face him and the emotions inside her.

Ulfric surprised her by coming out to the stables as she unpacked Onyx. Surprised her further with large arms wrapping around her waists and warm breath sparking fires down her spine. “Welcome home,” he murmured and she shuddered.

Slowly she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his. It had never been this before and she knew she needed to stop comparing what was then to now but her mind tried anyway. It needed signs that this was real and different.

“Another hold stands behind the Stormcloaks,” she told him and his chest rumbled with appreciation as he laughed.

“Good news from a beautiful messenger, what more could I ask for?” She lifted her brow at that, disbelief written over his face. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” her stomach dropped. His last surprise had been something she hadn’t asked for or wanted.

He sensed that and soothed her, fingers caressing against her face. “I won’t ever send you away like that,” he promised and she snorted.

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“Good,” he moved his arm around her waist and encouraged her forwards. When instead of directing her towards the palace, he turned down an alley close to it, she was dubious. Even more so when he stilled her before a house. “You are a welcome name in the Eastmarch. You have served my people as well as you have served me. For this reason, I have chosen to name you Thane of Eastmarch.”

Anwen blinked, taking a step away from him to consider him fully. “Thane?”

“Aye,” he agreed and then took her hand, placing skin-warmed metal into her hand. She took it and considered the key with trepidation. “A Thane has a right to land. To a home.”

“You bought me a house?” she asked voice getting a little higher as he chuckled.

“Consider it a gift for your unwavering loyalty and effort. Speak to Jorleif about furnishings.”

“I don’t know what to say.” In the back of her mind, she wondered why he had done this. Why he had given her leave to stay somewhere further than him but she remembered her conversation about homes.

Clearly so had he.

“Say that you’ll accept it. I know you thought of Whiterun your home but Windhelm has always been here for you too, will always be here for you.”

The words spoken – they were not speaking solely about the city. The thought sunk deep within her chest and choked her. “I accept. Thank you, my Jarl.”

“You’ll find your housecarl inside,” he told her taking a step away but she caught onto him, merged their lips and he caught her easily.

“I think I’ll stay at the Palace,” she murmured tugging him back there. “Until it’s furnished at least.”

Ulfric’s smile was blinding and her heart fluttered at the sight of it.


	24. Chapter 24

 

The Dragonborn wasn’t given time to enjoy her new home. She was barely given the time necessary to speak to Jorleif about the interior before she was once more put back to the road. She knew that she did far more travelling than any other soldier. Not even Galmar returned to Windhelm as often as she. 

Anwen did not mind the long stretches on the road, needing time with her thoughts even if when they turned dark, she sorely wanted someone beside her. More than once she considered a detour to Whiterun to collect Lydia but she didn’t want to. Didn’t want the housecarl to see, to know what was between her and Ulfric. It wasn’t that she was afraid merely she wasn’t sure she could face the questions.

Each time she saw him, each time he wrapped around her, each time he whispered into her ear, the further the wall disintegrated, replaced by something close to trust. It was hard for her fighting against the warnings in her mind. Part of her wanted to fall into this, to let it go, to let him love her completely but another, larger part constantly threw every pained word that lay between them. _He threw you away once, what’s to stop him doing it again?_

Work allowed her to keep a balance in her mind, keeping her sane. Divines help her, there was a lot of work. A constant stream of forts needed liberating, the occasional hold and not to mention the skirmishes against any Imperials that they found on the road. It was over a month of constant blood and battle, interspersed with hard nights at camp and restless ones in the Palace.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she was still standing but she was. As were Galmar, Ralof and the group of men she took with her on most of their skirmishes. Some of the faces had changed but most she recognised, would smile at her or nod when she passed by. Their eyes held respect and she felt she belonged amongst them.

Anwen refused every promotion he levelled against her. The new surnames which spoke of her courage were always tied to him in some way and she couldn’t accept that. He had told her they would be equals and she didn’t think agreeing to a rank in his military went well with that. Ulfric frowned and sighed whenever she denied him and kept pushing with each new victory. With a smile she declined him and he reluctantly sent her back on the road. It had been week since her return since she returned to the city gates once again and there was a sense of something lurking in the distance. Few places in Skyrim did not sport Stormcloak colours and opposition camps and numbers were shrinking. They were close to ending this and that both exhilarated and terrified her.

Ulfric stood when she entered the Palace, taking steps towards her, eyes full of joy. She felt it again, that creeping warmth inside her at the sight of him. After a one-word greeting they departed for the war room together, Ulfric shutting the door behind her.

She had just begun recounting their capture of Fort Snowhawk when his hands came to rest on her hips, burning patterns into her skin with his fingertips as she spoke of numbers lost on both sides, of their overall victory. The red pin was quickly replaced by a blue one, leaving her to hold what would signify Imperial presence in her finger before setting it aside. There was a smattering of red in a field of blue.

When she finished, he spun her, smiling down upon her and her heart fluttered, leaning into his hand as he trailed it along her face. “You have done very well. There is only one thing left to do and this battle I shall join you in.”

She raised a brow at that. “You will?”

“Aye,” he told her, taking a few steps forwards, her back crashing against the war table, scattering a few of the pins. His eyes never faltered from hers. “You are a true hero of Skyrim,” he told her pressing his breath into her neck and she wrapped her legs around him, hands clutching at his jacket. “Let me commend you.”

The intent was clear in his eyes and it was certainly a commendation she could accept, even as the pressing nature of their next mission imposed upon her. “Should we not -” she gasped as he began trailing kisses down her neck and lower, much lower. “Head to Haafingar camp?” 

Rather than reply, he slowly pulled down the trousers she wore and kissed her where none had shown her true pleasure before. If her cries were heard by those still in the throne room, they thankfully did not investigate.

\----

 

Anwen sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the mattress, just hanging off it with her arms wrapped around them as she watched him. They were due to leave in an hour, her pack had only needed refreshing but Ulfric was making his own. His steward had arranged the main things; the tents, the food supplies for the large party that would be moving out with them. This was all for Ulfric.

Ulfric worked through the room, collecting spare clothing, a dagger, some parchment and quills, a small bar of soap. His back was tense, his mind focused. He was no newcomer to war. This had been his lifeblood in his youth and she could see that now. He would take up the sword gladly, perhaps more so than her.

She remained silent as he prepared. He wore no heavy armour and she wasn’t sure if that was brave or stupid. Galmar was the same and she had never seen an enemy get close enough to land a hit. That did not protect from archers though. Her brow furrowed and stomach twisted at the thought of Ulfric being brought down in such an underhanded way.

She exhaled lowly, a quiet thought to herself.

Ulfric turned anyway. He studied her for a moment, shouldering his pack. “You seem troubled.”

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed, standing, moving closer to him.

Fingers picked her chin up, forced her eyes to him. “No, it isn’t.”

“ _Ulfric_ ,” she lamented, taking her face away from his. “We should go.”

“Anwen, I know things haven’t always been easy between us but you _can_ trust me.” 

“Fine,” she crossed her arms and walked over to the door. “You aren’t wearing armour. Someone could easily kill you.”

“You’re concerned with my safety?” she tensed as his hands began sliding along her body, wrapping around her waist. “This is hardly my first skirmish, Anwen. I know how to fight and defend myself.”

She shook her head and tried to brush the uneasy feeling inside her chest away. She felt vulnerable. Ulfric hardly helped with his brazen reassurances. “Come,” she reached for the door and out of his grasp. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

There was a low sigh behind her but he followed.

The ride to Haafingar would take her a day alone but with the party of their size and foot soldiers slowing them down, it would take longer. In the end, it took three days of hurried travel, pushing the men. More than once she felt guilt for having Onyx but knew her offering the steed to another would make that individual look weak.

Camping was worse and better than when alone. Ulfric’s companionship was constant and enjoyable, and the warmth from a shared body in the tent and his touches kept the night away. Anwen didn’t like the looks the men gave her; judgement, inquiry, desire. She ignored it all and could not wait to return to the men she knew better who saw her solely as a fighter.

Galmar was waiting at the edge of the camp when they arrived. His eyes were shrewd as Ulfric dismounted and quickly moved to her side, helping lift her from the horse and keeping his hands on her hip just a little too long. When he finally stepped back, she felt the burning gaze and turned to see the old bear’s eyes narrowing, before flicking back to Ulfric and she rolled her own, stretched her shoulder and walked away.

Anwen knew the battle plans as they were, had heard Ulfric go over them again and again the past few nights. Had offered her own input too. Any changes would be brought to her attention before they battled. Instead, she went to the men.

To say they were about to storm the capital of the Imperial legion they seemed in good sorts, many raising a bottle to her as she passed. The battles that had brought them here had been intense and she was glad to be fighting alongside them. It was subtle how she swung the tide of battle but from one breath of hers to the next, half a garrison could be knocked down to their feet. She had saved many lives and saw grateful faces.

And then, a familiar one.

Ralof was sat on a log before a small fire, chatting with a few other soldiers when Anwen approached. He stood immediately. “There's my favourite Dragonborn!” 

He was drunk, that much was clear and she would have chastised him but knew Galmar could and would do a better job of that. “I am the _only_ Dragonborn,” she reminded as he moved towards her, arm over her shoulders as he left his friends.

The group rolled their eyes and went back to their conversation. “How is it that you always seem to make it to Windhelm and back in the same amount of time it takes us to move camp?”

“I travel light,” she smiled and gently removed his arm, not enjoying the strong vapours pouring off of him. “Should you really be getting so drunk the night before battle?”

He shrugged. “Need something to take the edge off.”

“Nervous?”

He barked a laugh. “With you on our side? Never,” but his jovial tone dropped and he met her eye seriously. “We don't know what's waiting for us inside those walls.”

“If the worst should happen,” she told him in a calm voice. “I'll summon a dragon to fight for us.”

Ralof balked. “You can do that.”

Not a question.

“I have a friend.”

More than one set of eyes bulged as the conversation behind them stilled. “Last resort, okay?”

“Promise,” she told him and his mouth opened, closed again and then he wobbled some more. She sat down amongst the group, laughed at their stories, told a few of her own. She avoided the mead that was passing gladly between them and felt the fire warm her skin.

An hour or more passed and as she glanced around, she saw more than one soldier face-first in the mud. Some had friend’s kind enough to drag them into a tent, others left them with a blanket, some woke them with a bucket of water. Anwen wasn’t sure which method she preferred to watch.

Ralof was swaying as he spoke, eyes often coming back to her as he exclaimed with wide-arms, how he had helped take down a dragon. Anwen rolled her eyes. She had been there. He had provided her the perfect distraction needed to sneak her blade into the dragon’s back. She let him have it.

“My lady, Jarl Ulfric requests your presence.” She turned at the voice, a generic steward who would most likely not be in the fight.

There was a pained look in Ralof’s eyes before he stood on wavering legs.  

“ _Ralof_ -” she warned unsure in his actions. He tried to step forwards, caught a loose log and went down. She turned him over with his foot so he could breathe and turned her head to his friend’s form before. “Make sure he makes it to a tent.”

“Of course,” one of them nodded whilst the other chuckled and called him a fool. Anwen was inclined to agree, finally turning back to the person who had fetched her and following him back. Galmar and Ulfric were in a heated discussion when she breached the tent.

Galmar took one look at her, narrowed his gaze and left the tent, Ulfric sighed, making no move after him.

“Trouble?” she asked stepping forwards. “Is everything prepared?”

“Aye,” he told her and she lowered his hand from his face, gently kissed his palm and released it. “I just needed to see you before tomorrow.”

“What were you fighting about?"

Instead of responding, he pulled her close, just an embrace. “Ask me after the battle.”

Anwen had an idea what the two friends could be arguing about. An argument that had raged before and would no doubt continue in the future. The sky was dark above them, a lot of the men were making their move to their bed rolls and she had a tent near his that she should go to. They didn’t need distractions the night before battle.

She had every intention of doing such but the weariness in his eyes caught her as she glanced up. The tent was the largest in the field but still cramped. There were a few furs on the floor behind a flap of fabric, the table where their plans were on and not a lot else. 

“You should sleep,” she told him, placing a gentle hand upon his cheek. There was a faint scar, the palest light white sliver. It was not his only scar, beneath his clothing there were many from his wars. The long line on her back from her first battle with Alduin beat any he might have but it reminded her that they were both warriors first.  “Tomorrow the war will be decided.”

“The war was decided when you joined my side,” he told her almost dismissing her concern but there was something else underneath it. Something he wasn't telling her. “But you're right.”

“I'll see you in the morning,” she murmured stepping back but he caught her and brought her back. His lips were soft, gentle and she whimpered when he pulled away.

“For Talos,” he murmured and she smiled, leaning up to kiss his nose.

“For the true High King.”

When she left the tent and the cool air hit her, Anwen felt a deep unease that she forced away. There was a battle to face yet. That came first.

\------

 

“This is it men! It's time to make this city ours! We come to this moment carried by the sacrifices and the courage of our fellows. Those who have fallen. And those still bearing the shields to our right. On this day, our enemy will know the fullness of our determination, the true depth of our anger, and the exalted righteousness of our cause. The gods are watching. The spirits of our ancestors are stirring. And the men under suns yet to dawn will be transformed by what we do here today. Fear neither pain, nor darkness. For Sovngarde awaits those who die with weapons in their hands, and courage in their hearts. We now fight our way to Castle Dour to cut the head off the legion itself! And in that moment, the gods will look down and see Skyrim as she was meant to be. Full of Nords who are mighty, powerful, and free! Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the sons and daughters of Skyrim!”

The speech was mighty, inspiring and as the roar broke out from Ulfric's throat, she found herself joining in as she charged the gates. Battles like this did not play to Anwen's strengths but she found ways to make it work. She summoned her flame atronach that stopped the Imperial's getting too close to her as she used her magic or her bow on those from afar.

It did not mean she wasn't proficient with her blade as a few Imperial's that snuck past her atronach learnt the hard way, their bodies lying bloodied on the floor beside her as she moved on. It was not hard to keep track of Ulfric, the sound of his thu'um making her blood race as soldier's were scattered backwards.

The pair – Ulfric and Galmar – worked like a machine, taking out any and all who got close and jeering at each other as they did. They unsurprisingly made it to the doors of the Castle first. She caught up quickly, dispatching an approaching Imperial with a single arrow before holstering the weapon.

“Took your time,” Ulfric teased and she glared only a moment before replying with a smile.

“The best things always do.”

“Stop it,” Galmar hissed. “Tullius is in here. Let's end this.”

They barged through the door but there was no one to greet them, instead the trio walked forwards and saw Rikke and Tullius. The latter sat on a chair, hands hung low in defeat. Rikke had other plans.      

"Secure the door." Ulfric ordered.

"Already done,” Galmar assented and returned to Ulfric's side, Anwen taking the other. She could see the fire in Rikke's eyes, the burning hatred and unbending loyalty.

"Ulfric. Stop,” the Legate demanded, taking a step to stand between them and Tullius.

"Stop what? Taking Skyrim back from those who'd leave her to rot?"

"You're wrong. Ulfric. We need the Empire. Without it Skyrim will assuredly fall to the Dominion."

"You were there with us. You saw it. The day the Empire signed that damn treaty was the day the Empire died. The Empire is weak, obsolete. Look at how far we've come and with so little. When we're done rooting out Imperial influence here at home, then we will take our war to the Aldmeri Dominion."

"You're a damn fool."

A noise of frustration left Galmar as he stepped forwards, hands around his axe. "Stand aside woman. We've come for the General."

"He has given up. But I have not."

"Rikke. Go. You're free to leave."

The word was said with sympathy, understanding. As Anwen glanced between the two of them she realised that it was friendship that stayed Ulfric's hand. Perhaps something else. It wasn't her place to judge. Could she easily swing the axe if it was Vilkas, Lydia or Brynjolf standing opposite her?

"I'm also free to stay and fight for what I believe in."

"You're also free to die for it."

"This is what you wanted? Shield brothers and sisters killing each other? Families torn apart? This is the Skyrim you want?!"

"Damnit woman, stand aside,” Galmar hissed and the restraint was impressive. Neither of these men wanted this to happen. Anwen was already making her decision as the three continued to trade barbs.

"That's not the Skyrim I want to live in."

"Rikke. You don't have to do this," the plea in Ulfric's voice had Anwen's magic working even as the woman drew her weapon.

"You've left me no choice... Talos preserve us." The words had no sooner left her mouth than she dropped to the floor, paralysed from a spell she had not expected. Anwen stepped forwards ignoring the looks of disbelief and bound Rikke's hands and feet.

“Argue with her what her life it worth another day,” Anwen told them and turned her eyes back to Tullius. Ulfric stepped past her, squeezing her shoulder as he went, a silent thanks.

There were more words, more back and forth, some truths coming out in the face of death about the Empire and the Thalmor. Truths might not have been the right word but they would find that out later. When the offer to end Tullius' life came to her she shook her head.

“I have enough blood on my hands today, Ulfric,” she told him. It gave the Jarl pause, made him turn to consider her in a different light.

Tullius huffed in impatience, Galmar making a similar statement and with a swing of an axe, it was done. There were more words between Galmar and Ulfric and Anwen listened but did not speak. Only nodded in assent when Ulfric asked her to join her as he made his speech to the men. This was not her war. She had fought for the side she believed him but that did not make her hands clean.

At least Elisif was spared, she thought as the woman swore fealty to Ulfric before the crowds. The woman had been through enough. Through the speech, through the cheers, more than once Anwen's eyes went to the many bodies that littered the city. It was a waste but at least it was done.

In that she could let her burden ease. Without her it would have been much bloodier and longer.

When it was done, when Ulfric and Galmar had spoken and they were back inside Castle Dour, Ulfric turned to her.

“You seem troubled,” he noted and she shook her head.

“My thoughts are with those who have been lost,” she told him simply and he grabbed her close, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“I need to go to the Palace, sort some things out. Will you come with me?”

“No,” she told him with a smile. “I will go to Windhelm and await your return.”

The pursed lips told her that he was unhappy but he did not push. “Alright. It might take a few days, perhaps even a week.”

“I have still not finished unpacking Hjerim. There is plenty enough for me to do.”

With a heavy sigh he nodded. “Promise me you'll be there when I get back.”

Leaning up, she brushed her lips against his, not caring for Galmar's grunt of frustration. “I will.”

They cheered when she made her exit and she smiled but her heart was tight. She may not have ever called Tullius friend but it was different to watch one you know die to a nameless Imperial. Anwen for once took her time as she rode back to Windhelm.

Anwen did as she said she was and settled fully into her home. She took time hanging up armour and displaying the weapons, gifts from Ulfric and other Jarl's for favours she had done over her time. After all that was done, she curled up in her bed and read.

For the first time in a year, Anwen stopped.

 

\-----


	25. Chapter 25

 

The war, as it had been, finished when Elisif swore fealty to Ulfric. There were celebrations as news spread, and a few funerals too. Ending a war was not the same as peace. A High King was still needed and that election would take time, even when half of the Jarl’s had already been placed there by Ulfric and Galmar. Anwen chose not to be concerned with that. It was out of her control. She had done completed her part in the war when she had stood on the balcony beside Ulfric as Elisif declared fealty, and with the better side – as far as she could tell – on top.

All of her plans stopped after that.

If she wanted she could finally travel. Or could take up one of her roles properly; give guidance to the Companions or the College. It was the first time in her life that she was truly free to do as she wished. She had money, influence and power if she wished to use it. It was more than she could ever have dreamt and yet her heart clenched at the thought of leaving Windhelm.Anwen had never _wanted_ to leave Windhelm.

What would her life hold for her, if she stayed here? What would become of her and Ulfric? She trusted enough that he wanted her, clung to his words that they would be equal this time. And she trusted him a bit more beside. Things had been different since her return. The way he spoke to her, asked for her opinions, listened to her answers. It was all different and her heart beat a little faster at the prospect of staying with him through it all.

Anwen had come to her decision when she spent her time unpacking Hjerim, letting her body rest from so much fighting. Then all she had to do was wait.

Ulfric had been accurate when he told her it could take a week or more, it ending up being two before a large, tired party of men and women trudged back to their homes. Anwen went to the Palace as soon as she heard the news in the market that they had returned. She didn’t wonder why he hadn’t sent for her the previous evening and just wanted to see him to tell him what she’d been too afraid to before.

The Palace felt exhausted as she entered with tired soldiers shuffling about the place. Her attention was fixed on the emptiness of the throne, immediately taking steps to the war room.

“We need to get on with the moot, secure your position and the leadership of the country before the Empire can think to retaliate,” Galmar insisted sparing her a glance as she entered but not hesitating. “If the country stands united, even the Dominion would think twice before sending an attacking force.”

“I know,” Ulfric rubbed his face and she could feel this argument had been constant for a few days simply from their faces. When he turned to face her, there were heavy lines around his eyes. She wanted to go and comfort but it wasn’t the time. Her stomach clenched feeling unease burn through her. “I know, Galmar. We need to organise a moot and soon.”

“And what about the rest?” Galmar’s eyes were pointed, Ulfric’s shoulder slumping as he leant forwards on the table.

“Leave it, Galmar.”

“I won’t,” the housecarl told the Jarl. “She deserves to know.”

Anwen’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Galmar’s gaze turned to hers and there was sympathy there. An unspoken apology. “Last chance, Ulfric.”

“Talos help me, Galmar. Can I not have one more night?”  Ulfric thumped his fist onto the table but Galmar’s gaze was unrelenting. Her heart began to race, her stomach clenching. Something was wrong.

“Tell me,” she insisted hands becoming fists.

They all waited, for what she wasn’t sure. Her and Galmar’s eyes burned upon Ulfric who refused to meet either of them. A minute passed. Two. Three. 

“There’s a reason we spared Elisif,” Galmar broke the silence, an immediately daggered look springing forth from Ulfric as Anwen’s mind pounded to make the connection.

“Elisif?” she repeated, tasting the word on her mouth, glancing between Galmar and Ulfric, brow furrowed. “I don’t –“

Ulfric straightened, turned away from them both. “The easiest way to secure the country, to guarantee the moot sides in my favour would be for me to wed Elisif.”

The world stopped. Her blood ran cold.

Anger. Fear. Pain. All raged through her within a split second as the breath left her. “ _What_?”

“Elisif is young, malleable. Given her current situation it would not be difficult to ensure her agreement. It would combine our supporters.”

Her ears wrung and she had to step forwards to clutch at the table and steady herself. She felt sick. Open and used. “You’re a bastard, Ulfric Stormcloak,” she hissed shaking from anger and something deeper. “What about us?”

“ _Galmar_ ,” Ulfric said the word, a plea, the other man leaving and closing the door behind him without a word. It was then he stepped forwards, close enough to touch. She stepped away. Burned. “I did not lie when I told you I loved you.”

“But the rest of it was?” she hissed finding there wasn’t enough air in the room. “About being equals? About it being different?”

“Hear me out,” he insisted, stepping forwards. “I do not _want_ to wed her. It would be a political arrangement. She could keep to Solitude and I would keep to Windhelm. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

There was something stopping her vision being cleared as she looked up at him, feeling broken and small. “And what? Be your mistress?”

“I won’t hide you away. Elisif will never have my heart or keep my bed warm.”

She laughed, cold and broken. “You once sent me away because you didn’t want me to be a mistress, and now you come to me as though it is my best option. What next? You offer to pay my taxes and keep my pantry stocked?”

“I want to love you, to hold you. It might not even happen –“

He was trying to backtrack, trying to take away the pain but she wouldn’t let him. She clung to her anger. “You knew about this, didn’t you? Before this?” she gestured wildly to the space between them.

Ulfric held her gaze. “Aye. I did.”

She walked the short space between them and slapped him clean across the face. He made no move to stop her, no move to sooth the angry red mark that blossomed over his skin.

“I hate you,” she declared, voice steady and word strong because there was nothing else she could do. He hurt her and she let him.

“Anwen, calm down and we can speak of this rationally,” his voice almost had a note of pleading but she was shaking her head, close already to the door, feeling out for it with her hands whilst never breaking their eyes.

“What? And let you convince me to be your whore again?” she spat the world, as he took steps towards her, blocking her in between the wall and his body.

“I care about you,” his hand scolded her where it landed upon her cheek. “I love you.”

Her hands landed against his chest and shoved him hard, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheek. “You marry Elisif,” she sneered the name hands clenching and unclenching. “Do what you will but you will never lay a finger on me again,” she swore.

“Anwen!” her name was shouted as she yanked the door open and walked away. She didn’t care that people were staring, didn’t care about the tears lining her face or the pain in her hands from where her nails dug into her palms. Hjerim was too close and she wanted to go further, get away from him and everything else.

Calder, her housecarl, stood when she entered and hurried to her side when she crumpled, pain raging through her more powerful than Alduin's teeth or claws. She had never felt agony as it tore her now, and she cried out, banging her fists into the ground.

“My thane -” he hesitated, crouching down beside her but unable to touch.

“No one enters,” she told him between gasps not able to control her own breathing. “No one.”

His expression hardened as he nodded. Without asking, he picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. Gently, he lowered her to the bed and then backed away wordlessly, shutting the door behind him.

She wept in pain, clawed at her face and shook constantly for what felt like hours. She was numb to the world around her, to the banging on her front door, to Calder hissing that she was not there, had left, was gone.

It was two days before she left her room feeling weak and entirely raw. The plates of food that Calder had left for her remained untouched and she was sick more times than she cared to count, retching whenever she thought about him touching her.

When she did finally drag herself downstairs, Calder was there to steady her. “What do you need?”

“A bath,” she told him. “A pair of plain travels clothes and for you to ride Onyx to Whiterun.”

The man nodded and set her down by the fire, draping a shawl over her as he did as she bid. Anwen soaked her skin, rubbed his touch off of her, until the water was icy and she couldn't bare it any more. Calder gave her the package of clothes before setting out on her final task.

Anwen dressed and wore no make-up, let her hair hang past her face and the only weapon was a hidden dagger against her thigh. She took naught but her coin purse and left Hjerim in the dead of night. She was careful not to be seen, moving in the shadows, and made it out of the city without interruption.

The carriage driver was asleep until she dropped the bag of coins into his lap should he leave then. She waited by the wall as he prepared, feeling the chill in her thin clothing.

She felt eyes on her and made no move to hide, a soldier walking around the stable.

“Anwen,” Ralof sighed as if unhappy he had seen her. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” she told him a bite in her words she could not keep down. “Try to stop me and I will hurt you.”

Ralof held his hands up and shook his head. “I won't but the Jarl has ordered the guards in Eastmarch to bring you to him if they see you.”

She snorted a laugh. “I will not come back again.”

“It isn’t my place but – what happened?”

“He plans to wed Elisif,” she spoke the words with fake detachment, he saw through it immediately.

Stepping close, he tugged her into his arms. She went easily too broken to stop the action and she felt herself heave against his chest. “Take care of yourself, and if you need anything, I’ll try not to get caught this time.”

That made her smile as she pulled back, Ralof letting her go. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to her house and pressed it into his hand. “Calder will be back before the week is out but take care of the house until then. One day I might want my belongings back.”

“My lady,” the carriage driver interrupted with a cough. “I'm ready.”

“Don't get yourself into trouble for me,” she told him as she stepped back and into the back of the wagon. “I'm not worth it.”

His reply was cut off by the snap of the reins as the horses shot forwards. The surge caught her but she took hold of the side and rebalanced. Anwen was unable to do anything but watch the city as it grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared.


	26. Chapter 26

 

Whiterun came into view half an hour before she had the courage to look. She had not been back to the hold since she had been the one waging war against it but it was the only place she had considered close enough to a home to return to it. It took a lot to even prepare for the sight of it as she turned on the wagon.

The fires were out, that was the first thing she noticed, the city no longer smouldering in the night’s sky. The walls still stood, guards once again manning the gates. From the outside looking in, she could see no outwards signs of damage. It wasn’t the damage to buildings that she was worried about though. Would the people there forgive her? She wondered as she jumped off the wagon, thanks on her lips. There had been nowhere else she had even contemplated going. If she couldn’t settle here, she would find no peace in all of Skyrim. The thought wasn’t comforting. What would she do then? Leave? Skyrim was the only place she had ever known but could she remain here after everything she’d been through? Divines guide her, she didn’t know what she was doing.

The driver gave her a sympathetic look before calling to the stable master to make arrangements no doubt before his return journey. She had paid him a few extra septims should he not recall her face if anyone asked. It wasn’t that she was hiding, she _wasn’t_ , she just didn’t want to see him again. Anwen walked over to where Onyx stood, taking the time to stroke the main, letting it calm her. She felt numb inside, unable to process the deep aches within her and so blocked them out entirely. The horse nestled into her touch without protest. Onyx didn’t care. Had never cared who she was or what she did. Only ever giving her a rough ride once in those first few days after she returned for her horse, after what happened at Helgen.

Letting go and walking into Whiterun was harder than she could have prepared for, constantly recalling how the path was littered with bodies and blood when last she had made this journey. When she finally breached the gates she was gazed upon with surprise by some and disgust by others. No one went further than that. Maybe they had seen her fighting and were scared of her. Maybe they didn’t think she was worth their time. Either way, she made it to Breezehome unscathed until she opened the door.

Noises greeted her and she her lips pulled up, not enough for a full smile as she spied the two housecarls talking, until she heard the topic.

“ - broken. There's no other word,” Calder told Lydia who let out a long sigh. 

“Do you think she'll stay here long?” Lydia asked and as Anwen pushed the further she watched them sat next to each other on the table. It appeared as though Calder was half-way through demolishing the house’s pantry whilst Lydia watched on with an apprehensive and frustrated look in her eyes.

“I – I cannot say for certain. Do not let her travel alone.”

“I do think, after defeating Alduin of all creatures, that I might be able to travel Skyrim unopposed,” she stated and they both startled.

Calder stood and bowed immediately. “I am sorry, my thane. I was merely worried -”

“It's fine,” she had not enough energy to argue. Merely travelling in the coach for the long hours, unable to find true rest over the bumps and the calls of the night, had exhausted her. “Rest here until you are ready to return. The Stormcloak Ralof may be there. I have asked him to keep an eye on Hjerim.”

Looking at Lydia, she nodded, “I am going to stay in Jorrvaskr for a while.”

“Of course, my thane. I will be here if you need me.”

Only stopping to get a different change of clothes, Anwen headed back out and walked into the mead hall, keeping her head down enough so that she would not have to deal with anyone else. There was no one in the hall and she might have been worried if not for the sounds of sparring outside. Instead, she trudged down to her quarters there, shut the door behind her and collapsed upon her bed.

\------

  

The clang of metal rang through the courtyard as the steel of her blade bounced off of Farkas'. The move sent him backwards but he quickly recovered, slashing back at her with vigour and a smile that only seemed to grace his face when he was beating down on something. They had gathered quite an audience from their little sparring match.

Initially she had been disheartened as the whelps started to form a ring around them but now she was encouraged by it. It had been nearly two months since her return to Jorrvaskr and she had slipped back into an old, familiar routine. There was still a wound in her heart and ache in her head but she had a focus here, a role to fill and people who cared for her. It allowed her to keep going.

“That all you got?” Farkas growled, his great-sword making a low sweeping motion.

Anwen jumped, narrowly avoiding it and landing unsteadily. He made his second stab, attempting to knock her off balance but she had not made her way into their organisation for no reason. By the time his blade was in position, she was behind him, her own sword at his throat.

“Yield?” she teased and he burst into laughter.

They both smiled as they panted, his hand clasped onto her as she sucked in air. “You have much improved.”

“You too,” she replied straightening and stretching her spine. It was a good burn. “Fast-thinking. It was good.”

Farkas truly smiled at that then, shoving at her shoulder. As Anwen made to walk back into the hall she saw the awe in the whelp’s eyes, particularly Torvar who's mouth had yet to shut. It made her smirk. They still had a lot to learn but were making good progress under Farkas’ instruction. The Companions had done well for themselves in the hard times that followed first Skorj’s and then Kodlak’s death. It was no doubt due to the hard work of those who remained of the inner circle. Anwen may have held the title of Harbinger for nearly a year alas it was those around her who had kept things running smoothly.

Aela was out with two of the welps, training them to hunt and survive off of the land whilst Farkas taught them to strengthen their arms in Jorrvaskr. They worked well to make sure every Companion was ready for the worst and able to give their best. Of all the things that Anwen had expected, she had not dared hope to be so easily welcomed back after so long away. In her time as Harbinger she had fought Alduin, ended the Civil War and done all but nothing with the Companions save cure those who wished from Lycanthropy.

Vilkas, she decided, was sent by the divines. When no one had asked him he had stepped in. Although the Harbinger was not a leader but an advisor, there were many things that needed input and he had sense enough to see to them. She was thankful for that and often told him. The pair of them had had a less than ideal start together but he was easily her second and stood there for her whatever she required.

Vilkas had been the first to find her after her return to Jorrvaskr, curled in a ball and heaving dry sobs she had no hope of controlling. He who had silently left the room and returned with two pitchers of their strongest mead and drunk with her, telling stories that made her laugh and not pushing for more than she was willing to say. By the time Aela and Farkas learnt of her return, she was enough of herself again that she had never had to face that set of questions.

Slowly he had given her instruction and the preparation for the role of Harbinger that she had never received before and offered her council when they met to discuss the jobs that they had been given, how the welps were doing, and anything else that came up. Even as she returned from the yard his nose was deep in the stack of messages that had been sent to them.

“That’s an encouraging expression,” she called with a smile as she moved towards him, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “What’s the matter?”

He considered her, his brother, their panting forms and the blades in their sheaths before sighing. “You should not be fighting.”

“I am _fine_ ,” she insisted for not the first time, unconscious now under his concerned gaze.

“You seem so but you have been ill many times these past two weeks,” his voice was pitched low and she was glad Farkas had wandered off and Aela was elsewhere. One Companion protesting was easier handled than the three of them “I still think we should send for a healer.”

“Vikas, I am sure it is just that I ate something bad,” she brushed a hand through her hair pulling it up into a scruffy bun to get it off of her face. “Or I could have caught something in Markarth. I told you, that innkeeper was sneezing over _everything_.”

Vilkas’ face stitched closer together. “I was there alongside you, lest you forget. And I haven’t been sick once.” 

“Maybe your stomach is stronger for all your ears eating raw flesh.”

“Thank you, Harbinger, for that reminder. I will accept your decision but if it persists I will insist you go to Farengar.”

“You can insist all you want,” Anwen wrapped her arms over her chest. “I might still refuse to go.”

Vilkas rolled his eyes and picked something up from the table, shoving the handful of letters at her. “Your housecarl dropped these off this morning.”

It was Anwen’s turn to snarl. The top letter brandishing the seal of Windhelm, she immediately went to the fireplace and dumped all that did in the fire, keeping only the ones that were unknown in origin. It had been like this since she left, every week a letter would arrive. She still wasn’t sure if he were sending them to all her addresses or merely this one.

She couldn’t stand to think of him, so she didn’t.

Vilkas came to stand by her shoulder, watching the paper burn. “Still not given up?”

“He’s a stubborn fool,” Anwen retorted tearing off the seal and scanning the letter in her hands Vilkas didn’t know the whole truth, no one did, but he knew more than most. Knew that her appearance was due to a falling out. She had insisted the letters were to ask for forgiveness. Honestly, she had no idea what they contained. She had never opened one. “A woman in Morthal has requested our help with a wild bear.”

“Aela will be back in the next few days. If not, Farkas and I can handle it.”

Anwen nodded and didn’t push to go with them. Vilkas would only kick up a fuss if she tried to push herself and for all she said it was nothing, she feared that there was more to her illness than that. In all her years, she hadn’t gotten ill. She’d been injured countless times, knocked unconscious a few more, but never had to suffer from a cold.

It seemed like every few days this past fortnight she had been accosted by a rolling wave of nausea and dizziness that brought her to the floor. Vilkas had found her that first time and kept a good eye on her since.

Anwen tried her best to ignore the feeling growing in her chest and focus on her work. It helped. Anwen was not meant to sit idle. She needed something to fill the hours of her days, now more than ever. The last letter in her hand caught her attention, frowning at the marking on the back of the envelope.

“Brynjolf,” she murmured shaking her head, “What mess have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Vilkas studied her but she ignored him in favour of the letter, snorting a laugh at his words before crumpling it up and into the fireplace. Without another word she headed outside. Vilkas, thankfully, decided not to follow her as she made her way out up onto the wall.

\------

 

The wind was bracing from so high up and flowed through her hair, unravelling the hasty bun she had folded it into earlier. She didn’t care. It was weightlessness to simply stand there and be able to feel. There was no pain. No fear. No doubt. In that moment it was just her and the wind. She let her mind stay blank as she closed her eyes but was still aware of her surroundings.

There was no way she could be mad at him for keeping her waiting over an hour when she finally heard footsteps approaching. She waited until he was by her side and still did not turn as he spoke.

“Long time no see, my lady.”

“You do realise that when I said ‘I won’t work for the guild anymore’, I meant it?”

“No one ever really means it,” he was grinning as she turned, whilst she was leaning over the wall, he leant against it, gazing the opposite direction to her. “I like to think of it as more of a break until you realise how much you miss the thrill of it,” she rolled her eyes, “But really, lass, I could use your help.”

Relenting she nodded, not offering more than to listen. She had a life here, a life that didn’t really match up with robbing people blind. Just imagining Vilkas’ face should he learn that part of her past; she bit back the smirk and instead listened to her friend.

“Our soon to be King is bad for business. He’s been cracking down on the guild. I knew you two are close, thought you might be able to –“ at the change in her face, he stopped talking. “Not an option?”

“Not an option,” she repeated through gritted teeth.

His shoulders slumped momentarily before he straightened, the air of her old friend back. “A shame. Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”

“Sorry, Bryn,” he clasped her shoulder and turned her, grabbed her in a strong hug. “If there’s anything else I can do,” she let the offer hang and he made no move to accept it.

“Come by the Cistern some time.”

“Look after yourself.”

Pulling back, he inclined his head to her. “You too. You look a little pasty.”

The moment he said it she felt it, the wave within her, the roiling sensation which heated her skin and twisted her stomach into knots. “Get me down please,” she murmured and without question he did just that.

She managed to hold out until she was on solid ground before she ran to the nearest bush and emptied her breakfast. She’d been doing so well, dammit. It had been two days. _Two._

Brynjolf soothed her back but whatever words he said were burned away by the sounds emanating from her mouth. It felt like eternity before she sat back on her haunches brushing the sweat from her face and her loose strands of hair back.

Brynnjolf looked at her with a pointed gaze. “Not the first time is it?” she shook her head. “Comes and goes when you’re least expecting it? No real pattern? You feel fine the rest of the time?”

Anwen nodded but beseeched, “Don’t say it.”

“Lass, I think you’re with child.”

She slumped forwards and dropped her head into her hands. “I told you not to say it.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

She protested being carried back, only accepting his arm as support and let her mind whirl with the idea she had thoroughly ignored since it started. This was not what she had planned, divines help her.


	27. Chapter 27

 

Anwen had been content with her lot as Harbinger and was trying hard to move on with her life. It had been relatively easy to ignore the stream of letters that were sent her way and she actively made it her job to ignore all news into or out of Windhelm. Whilst it hurt when sometimes her dreams betrayed her and she remembered, the companions excelled in giving her reason not to think of it.

Right until Brynnjolf had gone and said it and made it real and now she couldn’t stop her mind from trespassing upon those forbidden thoughts. It had been easy to dismiss her illness as food poisoning. After that it wasn’t. A month passed and the Companions came and went. Aela asked her to join her in a hunt, Vilkas was quick to intercede with a reason why she couldn’t.

They had shared a glance after, Anwen and Vilkas, and she had a horrible feeling that he knew. He was exceptionally good at giving her tasks that kept her out of the field. Anwen always threw herself into whatever it was to keep her mind occupied no questions asked.

That day she had accepted the arduous task of writing letters to various holds to remind them of the companion's services. It was tedious and she was thankful, concentrating on the curve of her letters rather than that of her stomach, however small and unnoticeable it may be. 

A sharp knock rounded on her door half way through a letter. “Come in,” she called without looking up, scribbling furiously, knowing she only had two left to do. Well, three, but the companions might not be offering Windhelm their services this time. When she was done, signing the name 'Harbinger' still feeling odd, she turned and blinked at jarl Vignar.

“My Jarl,” she stood and bowed her head. “I did not know it was your or I would not have made you wait.”

“That's alright, Harbinger,” he told her with a smile that was tight around his eyes. “I have come to ask a favour of you.”

“Anything.”

He relaxed a touch at that. “The moot has been called,” Anwen tensed and if Vignar noticed he pretended not to. “It was decided that Whiterun, being the heart of Skyrim would be the location for the gathering. As Dragonborn, and considering your role in this, I had hoped you would join me in Dragonsreach to bear witness and perhaps… say a few words.”

Anwen clenched her hands and found it a little hard to breathe. “I – I do not,” she forced herself to swallow and tried again. “It is, of course an honour, but as Harbinger you know it is not my place to meddle in such things.”

Vignar gave her a dry, telling look.

She changed tact. “When will the moot be held?” planning ahead, thinking that she might be called to Markarth or Winterhold on the morn.

“Tomorrow. Jarl Ulfric arrived just an hour ago.” Anwen paled, her hand going to her table to steady her. Vignar, again, pretended to ignore it. “I will see you there, then? We’ll need you early. The moot will begin in the evening, to give those others a few hours extra to arrive,” she felt her stomach twisting and heart crushing when he informed her, “Jarl Ulfric has already bolstered security for the event. Extra guards at the gates. I will send Brill to come fetch you in the morning.”

The jarl left without waiting for a reply and this time when she emptied her stomach into the chamber pot, it was nothing but fear that caused it. She'd been trapped without even realising it. _Divines help me_ , she thought, grabbing her table to try and pull herself up. She failed and it knocked, scattering bowls, paper, ink and a goblet around the floor.

Vilkas arrived a moment later, eyes wide at the scene. First, he helped her back into his chair and sent away Aela when she came to see what the commotion was.

He passed her some water and told her, “Drink,” but her heart was pounding and it was becoming hard to breathe.

Vilkas made quick rounds picking up the scattered items and laying them down before he crouched before her. He took the shaking goblet away and held her hands in his. “ _Breathe_ ,” he ordered but she was still struggling. He pulled her hand to his chest, and told her, “In, and out.”

She struggled but focused on his words, the movement of his chest, matching it with his. When she calmed and he sat back on his heels, she dropped her face into her hands. “I'm a fool.”

“No,” he told her swiftly with no room for argument, peeling her hands away. “You are not. Tell me what is this about. What did Vignar say?”

She shook her head but forced the words out. “I am to attend to moot tomorrow.” Vilkas' brow furrowed so she added, “Ulfric will be there.”

No Jarl, no title, alluding to their familiarity. Vilkas' eyes were penetrating for a long time and she avoided them, watching the trembling of her knees instead until he sighed.

“So _he_ is the father of your child.”

She felt the tear fall down her face, “You figured it out then?”

“So did you it seems,” he told her carefully. “Saved an awkward conversation I was planning.”

She tried to offer a wry smile but with her eyes red and cheeks stained, red war-paint now dripping on her forearms where it had been loosened from her face, it was hardly intimidating as it ought to be. Vilkas sat in the chair opposite her. The one she had first met him in when he spoke to Kodlak.

“Why did you leave Windhelm?”

“To get away from _him_ ,” she stated plainly unable to keep the vehemence out of her voice. “He used me and for not the first time.”

Anger crackled behind pale eyes and if it were Farkas, something might now be broken. Vilkas had slightly more control. “You said you knew him from before?”

She nodded and turned her gaze to the wall. The doors had been closed after Aela had left but she didn't feel confident. It didn't matter. She knew she was going to tell Vilkas. He had waited patiently long enough. “I worked for the Stormcloaks before I knew I was Dragonborn. Before Helgen even.”

“And you two have been together since then?”

She snorted. “No. We have been intimate but I was little more than a tool then, and now I realise that's all I was this time too.”

The rage returned behind caring eyes and she reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “I had thought he'd let me go.”

“You think there's another reason that the moot will be held here?” she thought about it only a second before scowling.

“I do.”

“Leave then,” he told her plainly. “He does not deserve you.”

The statement made her blink at him and she wanted to hug him but wasn't sure her legs would support her. “I cannot. He has men posted around the city. I would not make it far.”

“He cannot keep you, not if you do not wish to stay,” Vilkas reminded her and she sat back in her chair. He was right that she had no real reason to fear him but she was not afraid of his actions merely what his words did to her. She was afraid of forgiving him.

“Brill is to fetch me tomorrow,” she told him and his jaw tightened.

“He won't be allowed,” he swore but she shook her head.

“Do not get into trouble for me.”

The man was silent for a long minute, considering, whilst Anwen was lost to her own dejection. When he spoke, it was with conviction. “We will tell them you are unwell, unfit to travel,” his eyes flickered to the bowl of sick a few feet from her, his nose picking up. “That is true enough.”

“It won't work,” she told him but the man was firm in his resolve.

“We will stand by our Harbinger. I will tell Farkas and Aela, not the whole truth,” he hastened to add at her wide-eyed stare. “But enough.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be okay if I leave you?”

_No._ “I'll be fine.”

“Get some rest,” he told her pausing at the door. “You truly do not look well.”

It was the nicest way anyone had ever told her that she looked like shit and it almost made her smile. Almost.

\----

 

The following morning, it was entirely unintentional when Brill walked into her room, a furious Aela on his tail and saw her heaving whatever was left in her stomach into a bowl. The huntress had glowered at the steward, “See?”

Brill seemed so completely surprised when he left and Aela waited until the man was gone before she gently sat beside Anwen, brushing her hair from her sweat-soaked face.

“He might return with another, or send someone else entirely,” Aela told her softly, “If they are as insistent as Vilkas suggested they may be,” Anwen leant into her side, Aela's cold fingers doing wonders to her burning face. “Should I have Tilma prepare some deer and bring it down?”

Anwen gagged at the thought of the smell and Aela patted her on the forearm, removing the full bowl as the Breton dropped backwards onto her bed.

“The thought is enough,” she replied and Aela laughed.

“Farkas will be sad when he won't be allowed his favourite meat for another few months.”

At this point, Anwen did not have the energy to be surprised or accusatory as the huntress brought her another bowl and a cool, damp piece of fabric to her face. “It'll pass,” Aela reminded her softly.

“I feel like death,” she groaned.

The huntress was more compassionate that Anwen could have expected, sitting with her when the next bout of sickness hit. She felt drained and her arms were heavy when she was done. Both of them waiting a few minutes before Aela carefully stood and removed the bowl, covering it with a towel and moving over to the desk.

She came back with a drink and said not a word, offering it to her lips. Anwen drank greedily but did not trust the sensation as the water settled in her stomach.

“Do you think we can try some food now?” Aela said softly when a large bang sounded upstairs. Anwen closed her eyes and let out a noise of discontent.

“Can't they just leave me be?” she hissed, Aela pulling a third bowl from the bedside table. It felt a bit overly cautious but with how she had been feeling since she had woken it was probably a good move. “I have done enough.”

Aela chuckled and moved over to the table, bringing forwards a bowl of porridge. The moment she brought it close enough for the smell to hit her, her stomach rolled and she grabbed the edge of the empty basin.

“Good grief,” Aela made the slight sound of disgust, returning the porridge and getting a fresh cloth for Anwen's head. The sound of her heaving blocked everything else. Not as much came out this time and she was thankful. She had believed that the sickness had at last passed before this week.

Aela's lips were pursed as she took the bowl. “You need fresh air.”

Anwen agreed and threw back the covers with as much force as she could manage. Aela took the cloth from her head and helped her up, her head was spinning and she had to simply stand, waiting for it to pass.

“Aela!” the shout was Vilkas' and she opened her eyes to share a concerned glance with the huntress.

“Sit back down,” Aela encouraged, grabbing one of the full bowls. “I will go see what this is about. And get Tilma."

Anwen had little choice in that regard, closing her eyes and dropping her head back. Her skin was clammy but it felt as though her stomach was finally settling. For a moment there was blissful peace and then there was a bang of doors opening. She knew that it was not Tilma and forced herself to stand, pulling a cloak over her shoulders. She was steadying her swaying body on the bedside cabinet when she heard. 

“You have _no_ right to enter her chambers,” it was Vilkas and he sounded furious.

“He's all but High King,” Galmar's voice boomed and she clenched her jaw for a moment at that. “He has every right.”

“High King or no, _no one_ has the right to storm a lady’s chamber, or have you no honour?”

“Vilkas,” she called her voice hoarse and tired but not wanting this to devolve into actual bloodshed. If Ulfric had bothered to come here himself, she would find the strength to face him. “It's okay.”

Wobbling only a little as she pushed off of the cabinet, she made it out into the office portion of her chambers. When she heard Galmar murmur, “So, she finally comes out of hiding.

“Come in, Vilkas,” she told them and watched as the door opened. Before her friend could try to enter, Galmar barged past, followed swiftly by Ulfric. She watched the former's face as he considered her, surprise evident.

“What?” she tried to laugh but her voice was not her own. “Did you think it a lie when they told you I was unwell? “

“Yes,” Galmar replied crossing his arms over his chest. “All things considered. It was a weak excuse even for you.”

“Move aside,” a feminine voice called and Aela all but barged through the men to feed her arm around Anwen's waist and without wanting to she slumped against the woman. “Now you've had your ogle. Surely the _High_ _King_ has more important things to do than watch over the ill.”

Without waiting for a response, Aela guided her back and Vilkas moved the other’s through the partition and out of her personal space. There was an apology in her eyes but Anwen smiled softly. In truth, it was passing now, she could feel her strength returning.

It was too much to hope that they would leave at that though and even after Aela slammed the door that separated the bedroom and study, she heard him speak. Her hand clenched around the covers.

“How long has she been unwell?” Ulfric spoke with a demand in his tone.

She felt Vilkas' hesitation and winced in sympathy. It was no small feat to think of a lie beneath Ulfric's gaze. “A week give or take a few days,” he eventually settled on.

“And has she seen a healer?”

“She is a bloody healer!” Aela shouted through the door an obvious reminder that, they too, could hear this conversation.

There was a frustrated sigh that Anwen couldn't place and she stood, nodding to Aela that she was well enough to do such. The huntress went to her wardrobe and began grabbing her usual robe, laying it on the bed. Anwen wouldn't dress until they were alone but she sensed this was not just going to go away.

“It is important that the Dragonborn is at the moot,” Ulfric said through what she imagined were gritted teeth. “We will delay the moot by a day and send someone to check on her in the evening.”

“She is w _ell looked a_ fter here,” Vilkas all but spat.

“Even so,” Ulfric stated simply but thankfully after that, footsteps did move away and Anwen sighed in relief.

“Try her with rye bread, it is good for settling the stomach,” Galmar spoke with a small amount of concern that she wanted to roll her eyes at.

Aela shared a look with her. “I will go speak to Vilkas and Farkas, get dressed.”

Slipping out of her room Anwen groaned heavily. As she stripped down to wash her skin, she found her hands resting on her stomach. It was the tiniest of elevation but across the flat plains that usually covered her, it was obvious.

_Fool girl,_ she thought. This only happened because of her own lapse in judgement. She had always been so vigilant before in her potions but even thinking back she could think of a few occasions where she had forgotten, too much to do on her mind to remember the small vial.

It had entirely slipped her mind until after the battle of Solitude, when she'd been reorganising her potions and she saw the familiar brown liquid at the back. It had been too late by then, and she had shrugged it off. Many couples spent years trying to conceive. More the fool her for believing as such.

With a heavy weight on her, she finished dressing and headed up to the mead hall. The whelps were clearly confused as they considered where Farkas, Vilkas and Aela were snapping at each other. Anwen already knew what she had to do.

Taking slow steps towards them, feeling better as she did, she still felt weak. She had not kept down any food in the last day. Farkas noticed her approach first.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Somewhat,” she smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “I thank you for what you have done but we cannot keep this up.”

“Two days and he'll have left,” Aela said but Anwen smiled wryly.

“No, I’m afraid he won't. He’s always been a stubborn bastard and I will not have him turn his ire onto the Companions for protecting me from my silly mistakes.”

“Anwen,” Vilkas stepped forwards and she smiled, shaking her head.

“I am going to go sit by the Skyforge for a while. When Ulfric's man comes looking you can tell them I'll be there tomorrow.”

The air was cold but in a good way. It was something that she found she needed, sometimes even missed the whip of icy air against her face. From the sky-forge she could glance out and see a long way in most directions. The world was calm, at least the little part of it that she could see.

Anwen sat on a rocky outcrop and looked at High Hrothgar, she could not see the building through the clouds but she knew it was there. It was a breath-taking view and she focused on that, her hand resting over her stomach.

They left her for a few hours before she heard footsteps behind her. There was a huff as the large warrior sat down.

“You're going to tell him aren't you?” Vilkas asked and Anwen's lips pursed.

“I haven't decided yet.”

“Good,” Vilkas' response drew her gaze to him. “Don't. Ulfric is an arse from what I've seen and heard.”

“He isn't entirely evil,” she chided but her heart was hardly behind it. “What choice do I have?”

Vilkas seemed to be preparing himself for something, settling his mind before he placed his hand over hers. “The Companions will always be here for you. If you were betrothed to another he would leave you be. The child could be adopted by your husband and you would be free of him.”

Anwen blinked and swallowed, unsettled as she met his gaze. “Vilkas -”

“I would give my life for you, Harbinger. This is not quite the same but -”

Heart warmed, she placed her hand upon his cheek and kissed his forehead. He huffed out when she pulled away. “Perhaps I should have gotten Farkas to ask.”

Anwen chuckled at that, “You had a better chance than your brother,” she told him truthfully. “But I couldn't do that. The lie would crush me.” Moving back, a small line between them but there was no love lost. He deserved better than she could ever give him. He was good and honourable and she was not. It wouldn't be fair to do that for so many reasons, not least if he knew her past he might well change his mind. “And if you think Ulfric would not question you do not know him. He went to war for what he believed him, I would hate to imagine what he would do to you.” 

“ _Anwen_.” It hit her then that no one knew her true name. Of all the people that she trusted, no one knew the truth. “I – I cannot help noticing that you care for him. It's in the inflection, the way you say his name and the look in your eye when you think of him.”

She twitched her nose. “I care for him a great deal. After everything that passed between us I came back and fought for him. He is a very inspiring man.”

“Then I am sorry that he has hurt you so.”

With a nod, she shifted back. “Help me up,” she asked and he did, standing and offering her a hand. Silently, they walked back to Jorrvaskr. The sun was setting and her stomach was rebelling against her. They got half way down the steps when the sound of steel on wood sounded around the back of the building.

“I'll send the whelp inside,” he told her. “You head on.”

Anwen watched as he disappeared around the back and took the shorter route around the front. She was just pushing the door open when there was a shout behind her.

“Dragonborn,” Galmar's gruff tone called out in the night a few on their own looked up before carrying on to their homes. “You seem better.”

“It comes and goes,” she told him crossing her arms over her chest. “Let me save you the effort, I will come to your moot tomorrow, if I am able.”

“Oh no,” he told her stilling climbing the stairs, only stopping a few feet from her. “If you're good and ready, he'd like to see you now.”

“Galmar, I haven't eaten in over a day,” she told him plainly.

“There's food in Dragonsreach,” his tone unrelenting. “Come on.”

“If I go with you now, you'll have the Companions banging on your door,” she returned his tone back to him.

“Either you come with me, or I bring Ulfric here. You two are going to talk if it kills us all.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. Why did he care? With a groan of frustration, she tossed her head through the door and scanned the room. “Torvar!”

The man straightened on reflex than relaxed, “What is it, Harbinger?”

“Tell Aela I'm going to Dragonsreach. If I have not returned by Loredas morn, I may need to be retrieved.”

There was a snort from behind her and if she could see him, she'd have kicked out. As it was, she waited for the man's nod before she closed the door and glowered at Galmar. “Come on then. Let's get it over with.”


	28. Chapter 28

 

Galmar did not take her through the throne room of Dragonsreach and for that she was infinitely grateful. She did not particularly want to be seen route-marched by Ulfric's housecarl, although she realised that it was probably more for his benefit than for hers. Wouldn’t do to be receiving her in his private room so late at night, would it?  She did not doubt that he wanted her support for this moot either. She felt rather bitter as she followed Galmar.

Whilst she did not have a vote to cast, the Harbinger carried great influence and the Dragonborn more still. She hoped that this was what it was about anyway. She had honestly no idea how she would deal with anything more personal. Anwen had spent so long ignoring it all she didn’t have any words prepared and had no idea how she might act.

Galmar stilled her at the bottom of the stairs they were clearly heading towards with an arm on her shoulder. She shrugged him off immediately but waited for what he had to say. His eyes were heavy as they bore into hers.

Eventually, she broke first, too many emotions crashing through her to remain entirely level-headed. “What, Galmar?”

“I don’t disagree with what you’ve done,” he told her plainly. “But it would be wrong of me not to tell you that it is my hand that has stilled him. We have known that it was here that you came since that first week. If not for me, he’d have ridden immediately out to speak with you.”

“Then it appears I have you to thank,” she glowered crossing her arms tightly over his chest. “I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Aye. I get it but you both _need_ to talk. Decisions made on assumptions and confusion don’t suit anyone. Hear him out, if you still think you leaving was the right decision afterwards than you can both be done with this.”

Anwen really wished it was as easy as that. “When did you become the level-headed one?”

Galmar smirked. “I’ve always been the level-headed one. Let’s go.”

Anwen had no other words to say and so she followed him up the stairs where Ulfric had clearly displaced Vignar for the master bedroom. If nothing else, her days with the Guild had given her a good knowledge of most major holds, sometimes in unexpected locations. As Galmar knocked on Ulfric's door she was calmer than she had thought she would be, though she had a day to settle and Galmar’s words were in her head. She did want to know more but she was afraid to. It slowed her steps but Galmar was there to encourage her forwards, knocking and then holding the door open with a frankly tired expression.

“Come in,” Ulfric's voice sounded tired and she wondered how far the man had pushed himself. It would not surprise her if he had ridden all the way from Windhelm in one day without stopping.

Galmar gestured for her to enter with a flick of his head. Holding her head high, she did, waiting for the old bear to follow. “Look who's feeling better?”

Ulfric turned from where he had been reading some parchment, shock evident on his face. “Anwen.”

She inclined her head but had no words for him. The Jarl stood and moved closer, stopping out of range. _Smart_ , she thought, not entirely sure she wasn't going to slap him again.

“You still look pale,” he noted with a frown and she glared at Galmar for that. The old bear didn't miss a beat.

“Apparently she's not eaten in over a day. Maybe she made herself sick this morning.”

At that she turned and demanded, “How dare you?”

“ _Galmar_ ,” Ulfric warned. “Thank you for bringing her. You can go.”

Snorting he nodded. “If she kills you, it's your own damn fault for not listening.”

“Noted.”

Galmar huffed out an annoyed breath that Anwen considered as she watched his retreating form, unsure if she wished to ask him to stay. It was less intimidating when Galmar was in the room. The moment passed and they were alone. Ulfric gestured his hand to a table that had a collection of food, “Please.”

If she had the strength, she would have declined on principle but her stomach fought her. She stepped close and was about to sit when that awful stench accosted her nose and instead she turned, retching into the nearest flower pot.

It was thankfully nothing but a dry heave but she felt awful because of it. Ulfric's gaze was on her. If she had been home she would have ordered the venison away but she did not here. Simply saying when the heaves subsided. “Perhaps not.”

“You – you do not seem yourself.”

Anwen did not respond, only moving back from the vase and into the middle of the room once more. Refusing to meet his gaze, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. 

“Your Companions refused to tell me the nature of your illness,” he continued on regardless. “Had I known you were sick - “ he let out a heavy sigh. “I would have come sooner.”

Anwen clenched her jaw.

“You are mad with me. I understand. When we spoke in Windhelm – my words were not what I wanted them to be.”

He took a step forwards and she raised her hand, a clear warning. “Do not touch me.”

“I promise I will not should you just _speak_ to me, Anwen.”

“You have no right to do either.”

“You gave me no chance to explain!” he yelled and she startled at the anger, tensing. “You left me!”

“You wanted to marry another,” she sneered at him unbelieving his nerve. “How could I take that well, Ulfric?”

“I _wanted_ no such thing. The last thing I _want_ is Elisif as my wife!”

“Then why even consider it?” she hissed.

“I have a duty to more than myself!”

“So why are you speaking to me? You have no duty to me.”

His fist clenched by his side and he moved away from her, paced the length of the room. She was glad for the momentary pause. She didn’t come here for a screaming match but it had felt good. If Ulfric hadn’t moved away it might have devolved further.

“Did you receive my letters?” he asked finally, pausing near the window, open onto the balcony, taking in the cool night air.

She snorted. “Yes. Their ashes may lie in my fireplace if you wish them returned?”

“Did you even read them?” he turned to study her face and then shook his head. “Of course you didn’t. I have not wed,” he told her voice low. “And have no intentions of joining myself to Elisif. I will do this without her.”

“Why should I care?” she did but she didn’t let it show, clinging instead to her anger.

“You –“ his shoulders shook with his own frustration, somewhat beaten as he changed tact. “The moot will be tomorrow. Will you be there?”

Of course he would want to know that. Would like access still to her power. It fuelled her pain forwards. “I will.”

Anwen considered all that stood between them, knew that there could be nothing else to say and so turned to go. Vilkas’ words came back into her mind, demanding her to leave, that Ulfric didn’t have the right to know anymore. It was too big of a decision for then, when anger coloured them both, so she continued to the door, hand clasping around the handle before he spoke.

“Have I truly lost you?” his voice tore through her defences, so broken and defeated as it was, so pained. “Do you care nothing for me?”

A bitter laugh turned gasp escaped her before she could stop it but she held a hand to him when he stepped closer. “Oh how little you know,” she shook her head, anger making her shake.

“Then come back to me, Anwen,” he stepped close. Close enough that she could feel the weight of him behind her, felt his scent accost her nose and stir something inside her, the heat radiating from him was so warm and she hadn’t realised how cold she was until then.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed it all in, feeling the tears spring to her eyes. When he grasped her shoulder it was too much and she had to move away, pull to the side.

“Don’t,” she begged taking steps until her back hit a wall.

Thankfully, he kept his distance then. “I made a mistake,” he murmured. “And I want to rectify that. Let me. Please.”

She shook her head because her voice was lost to her, eventually managing an uneven, “I can’t. Not again.”

His shoulders dropped and he stared at the floor before he straightened. “I will respect your choices but I ask that you stay here tonight. I will find another room,” he hastened to add. “Merely you do not look well. I would have Fire-beard look at you in the morning.”

“There’s no need,” she insisted clutching his fists together.

“I know that Companion was lying. You’ve been ill a lot longer than he let on. I can see it in your face, in your body. There’s been a change. Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” her voice broke on the second word.

“Dammit, Anwen! I won’t see you waste away.”

“I am not wasting away,” she grouched because she could take care of her body. She had recovered from injuries enough to kill most. She could handle this. “And I don’t need a healer because I already know what this sickness is.”

He moved away from the door and his eyes were pleading. “Tell me. I need to know that you’re safe and well or none of this matters to me.”

It was the tone, the open stare in his eyes. That he, Ulfric Stormcloak, would beg her for knowledge. It broke past her barriers. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists before exhaling on a breath, “I carry your child.”

The effect was immediate. The shock freezing him place. For a second she stood locked in position too but then reality came quickly back around her and she used the birth he had given her to escape. She dried her eyes behind the closed doors and made it to the bottom before she ran into Galmar.

“He still alive?”

“Barely,” she told him expression hard and it was enough for the man to curse and jog up the stairs to check. It pulled the corner of her lip but she was too unsettled for a full smile. Instead, she made hurried steps home unsure what in Talos name she had just done.


	29. Chapter 29

 

“Have you anything to say, Dragonborn?”

Jarl Vignar had spoken to her and it jolted her back to the present. She had not slept well, tossing and turning until she could stand it no more and went to sit on the steps of Jorrvaskr. Aela had found her and asked what happened. To recount it had felt just as hard as to live it and if not for Aela’s encouragement she might never have gotten it out. They spoke for many hours; Aela offered her advice and thoughts. Anwen took in as much as it as she could, given her state of mind. It had slipped out. She hadn’t been prepared for the conversation as she should have been and she was left with yet more questions.

Why hadn’t he married Elisif? What did he want from her? Why had she told him? What good could come of it? She wasn’t sure. Anwen’s resolve always wavered before him and the strength of emotions that accosted her always managed to have her saying things she ought not. That evening, it had taken all her strength not to run off into the night, use the Skyforge’s exit and just disappear. Properly this time, somewhere he couldn’t find her.

If the thought of going through this alone didn’t scare the Nirn out off of her, she might well have done that. Instead, she tried to consider her friend’s words. Whilst Vilkas would have had her hide the truth, Aela was glad that she hadn’t. Aela spoke of how a child changes people, of how Ulfric should know and be able to make decisions based upon that knowledge. It made her feel a tiny bit better to have that support that, at least to Aela, she hadn’t completely destroyed her life.

Anwen would have struggled to find sleep if not for the heavy blanket of exhaustion resting on her shoulders when Aela finally coaxed her back inside. Her body was changing, slowly but surely. She could no longer go all but days without sleep and in constant battle. At the moment it felt like she couldn’t make a full day without collapsing onto some flat surface.

The mental weight of the previous day stayed with her when she awoke and it took all her strength to actually dress and head to the moot. Aela, Vilkas and Farkas all offered to accompany her, not caring if it would break the Companion’s from their neutrality. She carefully declined. This was something for the dragonborn, not the Harbinger.

Even with that, Vilkas had still spoken to Vignar that morning when he arrived. Anwen hadn’t expected an escort but Vignar arrived alone wishing to walk with her, ‘considering her illness’ he had stated but Anwen suspected Galmar if not Ulfric. Whatever had passed between Vignar and Vilkas, the former Companion did not leave her side as they mingled with the other Jarl’s. Most were kind to her, remembering the things that she had done to help their holds. Elisif was there and Anwen made no move to her, nor did the jarl of Solitude come towards her.

Ulfric’s gaze was unwavering but Vignar made sure that they were always speaking to someone, and that someone never was Ulfric. She wanted to chastise Vilkas and at the same time hug him. She felt the burden of what she had told Ulfric between them and it was not the time for either of them to discuss such things.

When it came time to sit, Vignar settled her in a chair behind the table the jarls had gathered around, out of sight of Ulfric. She felt his eyes burning on her regardless but refused to look up. Instead, she drifted. Her mind wandering from thought to thought with no real direction. The moot was loud. There was accusations and anger, and more than once she heard laughter but she did not focus on it.

When Vignar called upon her, she wasn’t really prepared for this. She was no jarl, had no vote to cast but could say her piece.  Biting her cheek, she stood and let unprepared words flow, “Skyrim needs a strong leader. One who may think for themselves and not rely solely on the council of those not native to this land, with interests not in the benefit of Skyrim held high,” it was a small jibe at Elisif that she could not help. “As Harbinger it is not my place to tell you who to vote for,” she said carefully. “But as dragonborn, I advise you think who amongst you is strong enough to fight for Skyrim, no matter the foe, and win.”

With a small bow to the jarls, she left the hall and the Jarl's to their deliberations. What happened after was not for her to control. Anwen had had enough of deciding the fate of Skyrim.

The walk back to Jorrvaskr was made with slow, heavy steps. Vilkas was sitting outside and offered her a hand wordlessly, taking her into the hall. He sat her down at the table and left, allowing her to idly pick and the food around her. Noticing the rye bread upon the table, she picked that up and tried it first.

When she swallowed her first mouthful without any consequences, she gained confidence and ate her fill, feeling some strength return with the simple task. Anwen did her best after that to do something productive with her time, returning to the letters she failed to complete the previous day and then spending a few hours sharpening blades.

It was a simple task that let her mind blank out, allowed her a small reprieve.

The moot deliberated for three days before declaring it’s decision and Anwen was undisturbed in all that time. Vignar brought them the news himself that Ulfric would be the true High King and Anwen accepted and returned to her chambers.

The other Companions spoke a while longer with Vignar upstairs but she blanked it all out. It was easier not to feel so she tried to keep her mind blank. She failed.

Steps came down to her room and she sighed. “Come in,” she called unsure it mattered who it was in her current mood.

Vignar smiled softly at her as he stepped into the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Everyone seems so concerned with my health,” she drawled. “It’s touching really.”

“The King is a hard man to deny,” Vignar defended and she let her shoulders drop.

“I don’t blame you for bringing him here. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he told her pulling out a heavy envelope from his pocket, laying it before her on the table. “Just a delivery. High King Ulfric said to tell you, ‘if you would only do one more thing for him, he would have you read that letter’.”

Her fingers pressed on the edge of it, flicking her gaze up to him. “He couldn’t bring this himself?”

“He left a few hours ago.”

Anwen’s chest fluttered and she tried not to feel anything. The words did surprise her. She was not sure what she expected of him but the silence and space he had given her was nothing like anything she could have predicted. She wondered idly if this were to be the line in the sand. If Ulfric truly had no desire for a child, no less a bastard half-breed with a Breton whore, then perhaps that would be it. Anwen had done her best not to think, not to hope, but a small part of her had wanted him to do something. Words were one thing but actions spoke louder. Especially between them. Clouded thoughts slowed her reply, eventually murmuring, “Thank you.”

Vignar turned and considered the wall a moment before, murmuring lowly, “I have known Ulfric a good few years now. I do not know what the letter contains only that I have never seen him so grave as when he presented that letter and instructions on what to do with it.”

Anwen could not watch him as he left, instead staring at the envelope for a good hour before finally collecting it in her hands. It was heavy, thicker than any of the other letters she had tossed into flame. There was something inside it too, something hard. Perhaps it was gold to buy her off? A parting gift that would wipe his hands clean of her? Her thoughts were pessimistic but she couldn’t bring herself for anything more than that.

Curiosity got the best of her, had her break the seal and tip the contents out. A metal band fell, the signet of the bear pressed into the centre. It was his, she knew without doubt. Memories told her it was his fathers. Passed down through generations. The last time she saw it was upon his smallest finger. Why was he giving it her?

She should have burnt the letter but divines help her, she needed to know what he thought. What was she was supposed to make of this ‘gift’?

The writing was messy, had no clear direction. No scribe had sat down to write this out, this was all him.

 _Anwen_ ,

_I will not try to defend myself with words. I love you. I care about you. I would have never had you leave. There has never been another in my life that I have wished to have by my side. You stole a part of me when you left Windhelm, perhaps a bigger part than either of us had realised._

_Come back to me. Be my wife._

_If you cannot than it will be my punishment to live the rest of my life alone, knowing the taste of happiness as a distant memory. I will make no move on you again. However, if you think that you can forgive me, if there is any possibility that I can show you how wrong I was and how much you mean to me – then take my ring as a sign of betrothal. I will give everything to you and our child and support you in whatever way I can regardless of your choice._

_There is nothing else I can say, nothing else that I can offer. I pray to Talos that your reply may be swift._

_Yours forever,_

_Ulfric Stormcloak._

 

By morning, the letter had been read a thousand times over, the ring sitting proudly atop it and Anwen was outside brandishing a large sword and burying it deep within the nearest training dummy.

Farkas found her, up early to set up for training the whelps. She didn’t stop or slow on his approach, hacking and slashing at the wood as it splintered every which way. How dare he? How dare he ask her to marry him? She hated him. Hated him.

Only she didn’t. Not completely. There were other things. Other feelings that he didn’t deserve. Feelings she wished that she could just make disappear but were as stubborn as the person they were about.

There was moisture in her eyes and her shoulders heaved not entirely from exertion. A clank of metal sounded behind her, alerting her.

“Keep going like that and you’ll injure yourself,” Farkas warned but made no other move to stop her. 

“Maybe I need the distraction,” she grunted moving to the next dummy as she killed the first. Her movements were slowing, tiring, but she kept pushing.

“I – I should get Vilkas,” Farkas decided and she heard steps heading away, grunted in frustration and dropped the blade. The last thing she needed was another heart-to-heart with Vilkas. He understood too much, always saw through her. Right now she wasn’t sure if he’d make the decision easier or harder and she needed to figure this out on her own. At least, that’s what she had thought when she headed out brandishing a blade.

“Stay,” she huffed as she wiped the mixture of tears and sweat away from her face. “Please, I’m sorry.”

The Companion stilled and slowly moved closer to her, sitting beside her when she collapsed on the steps, thrusting a tankard in front of her. She downed the water in one go, passing the cup back.

“What would you do if you found out you were a father?”

Farkas stiffened. “What?”

“You aren’t,” she assured. “I’m just wondering out loud.”

Farkas relaxed and she wanted to smile but didn’t quite have the energy. “I – I would want to see the child. I would want to help raise it.”

“And what if you couldn’t? What if the mother wouldn’t let you near?”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t know. The child would be mine as much as theirs.”

The words are true and she knew it. Keeping Ulfric from the child would be selfish. She understood the man and for all the pain he had caused her she could not see him doing that to a child. Not intentionally at least. Not to mention that a child deserved a father. It plagued her, thoughts of the different life the child would lead if she stayed or if she went.

In Jorrvaskr, they would be brought up amongst warriors, many adults willing to protect them. And her child would know death. Companions died, it was horrible but true. Her child would no doubt end up a Companion like Vilkas and Farkas, destined to live their life constantly fighting.

In Windhelm, they would be a prince. They would have wealth that she never had, security that she had never dreamed of, and a family. They would also be a target to any who wished to hurt Ulfric. Although, they may be that anyway, she reminded herself. Anyone who did any sort of digging would learn of her connection to him.  

There was a third option. An option away from everyone she knew and the thought terrified her so resolutely that it was never given more than a passing thought before being squashed.

When the whelps roused, Farkas moved to set them training and Anwen went to bathe. It helped to feel clean again, to soothe her aching joints and muscles. There was movement outside her bedroom door as she dressed, opening them to find Aela, wide-eyed as she considered the letter.

Anwen wasn’t even annoyed that she had read it. “I have no idea what to do.”

Aela shook her head. “He asked you to marry him.”

“Aye,” she agreed collecting the letter, holding the ring in her palm.

“And, while I don’t like his method, it is clear that he cares.”

“ _Aela_ ,” she warned not really ready for logic at the moment.

“Why did you leave?”

The earnestness of the request was why she answered rather than any desire to actually recall those feelings. She sat down and Aela copied her.

“Things between Ulfric and I have never been easy,” she admitted without going into details. They didn’t matter now. “Trust was hard won and easily lost. We were together once before in the past, it ended poorly,” she exhaled, bringing a hand to her stomach, soothing a circle. “It was difficult to allow him in a second time. When I finally did, I found out he planned to marry Elisif.”

“Bastard.”

It was an understatement of how she had felt but it was further away now. She didn’t regret her actions, would do the same thing again today. He hadn’t married Elisif and she wished she had a fuller answer for why.

“And now I’m carrying his bastard,” she chuckled not really finding it funny at all.

“But it doesn’t need to be,” Aela commented, considering the ring on the table. “He’s offering to legitimise the child.”

“I don’t trust him,” Anwen stated plainly. “I can’t. If it was just me, that letter would already be in the fire.”

“But it’s not. You’re considering it then?”

“For the child,” she explained ignoring the stab of pain in her heart. “I don’t want them to be fatherless just because of me.”

“But is that reason enough to be married to Ulfric?”

“There’s a lot of good I could do,” she knew that the Queen would have power. Power to stop Ulfric from becoming tyrannical if it came to that, to make sure he did what was best for all the people of Skyrim, not just the Nords.

Aela leant across the table and squeezed her hand. “Think about it. Think about it a lot. There’s no turning back after this, no matter which path you take.”

Anwen bit her lip and nodded and did little else that day but think about it. Or the next. Or the next. Aela was right, once she set down her path, there would be no turning back.

­----


	30. Chapter 30

Anwen was on her bed, knees tight against her chest. It had been nine days since she received the letter and she was no closer to a response than she had been when she first read it. She had retreated in that time, spending only short bursts with the others before returning to her quarters to deliberate what in the divines name she was going to do.

Somewhere along the way, the truth had come out. Vilkas, Farkas and Aela all knew she was pregnant and that Ulfric was the father. More still, they knew of the proposal he had sent her. The ring that burned the palm of her hand.

Anwen had always been a person of decision and this indecision was killing her. The only blessing was that she hadn’t been sick in that time as well. Her meals were staying down and her strength returning.

The door opened and the second she saw the mop of dark brown hair, she exhaled the words, “I was his whore.”

Vilkas stilled at the entry to her room, considering her a moment before setting down the steaming drink he had brought her and shutting the door completely. “Anwen?”

She couldn’t look at him as she spoke. This story had never left her lips. The ones that had known were the ones who had lived it alongside her but she couldn’t have this on top of everything else. She needed advice and she needed him to know everything to know what to say.

“My parents were murdered by bandits, my home destroyed,” she could say the words with an even tone now. It still hurt to remember but she had survived because of her mother and she deserved to be recognised for that action. Her father had died to give her mother enough time to do that. “I was left without a thing in the world.”

“What options are they for a woman when no one was hiring? I had nothing. No money. Just the clothes on my body and my feet to guide me. The winter was cold. I needed food. I found out there was one thing I had after all,” her lips pulled up wryly and she ghosted over the specifics. No one needed to know that. She wasn’t sure she could say it and live it again. “Eventually I arrived at Windhelm and plied my services. I was popular in the barracks. Ulfric eventually noticed me one day as I was leaving. The next, I had a summons from his steward.”

She clutched her legs tighter. Vilkas hadn’t moved an inch. “The gold was good. I was settled, happy. I made a mistake though,” she chewed her lip. “I fell for Ulfric. He never treated me like a whore really. Money never passed from his hands to mine. It was done with his steward after. It made it easier to forget, to pretend.”

She could remember how those sensations had started to build, how she had started to look forward to those visits, how she had let herself be completely with him. It was about more than the act with Ulfric. “I was so infatuated that I let him send me away. I wanted to please him so I went to the Imperials and stole information. I still sold my body, the only thing I’d ever been good at, but I gathered information and sent it back. I was caught and tortured for what felt like an age before finally I was thrown onto a cart in Helgen to be executed.”

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling. “Things changed after that. I became the dragonborn. I avoided Windhelm until the war stopped me defeating Alduin. I went to him and I fell again to his inspiring words and promises of a different outcome. There was no money that time. You know the rest.”

“Elisif,” Vilkas’ voice was soft. “And now he wishes you back.”

Tears streamed down her face, had been flowing freely since she started. Vilkas came forwards and sat upon the bed, collected her. She clutched at him and had never felt so small as in that moment surrounded by the Nord’s arms.

“I don’t know what to do,” she gasped and he shushed her gently, ran his fingers up her back.

“You love him.”

She nodded into his chest.

“What holds you back?”

“I can’t trust him,” she shivered. “Why couldn’t I have just fallen for someone such as you?”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I have not always been so good. I remember how I first treated you.”

“Better that than like a whore,” she murmured and he sighed. “I am so sorry, Vilkas. I shouldn’t ask but you don’t, I mean, I can’t stand the thought of breaking your heart.”

She pulled back enough to look into grey eyes and they were calm, open and pained but not for himself. He was concerned about her. “I care about you, Anwen, and I have little doubt that I _could_ fall in love with you but no, I am not hurt by your decision.”  

“You are far too good for me.”

He picked up her chin with his finger. “The luckiest person in the world is the person who you love alas he is also a bastard.”

She chuckled and it caught in her throat. “Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Advise me then,” she clung to him, lowering her head against his chest again.

“Marriage is no small decision. You would be binding your life to someone, to live your life by their side and to share their bed with them,” she focused on the beat of his heart as much as his words. It was steady and calming. “Many people wed for reasons outside of love. Power, politics, money. Love is an added bonus.”

“I could protect my child,” she spoke softly, releasing her biggest fear. “They will never have to sell themselves to survive, never know what it is to feel truly hungry or desolate.”

“Aye but you could do that without marrying him. You are by no means poor and the Companions will always be here for you, Harbinger. I think helping raising the dragonborn’s child would be a worthy challenge for all of us.”

She chuckled and was glad he was smiling at her when she glanced at him. “You deserve someone who loves you completely.”

“As do you,” he brushed her hair. “We are here for you whatever your decision, Anwen. I cannot tell you what to do. Only you can decide that but ask yourself, which decision would you regret more?”

Anwen bit her lip and considered his words. They sat like that for hours, eventually he stood and left her. Things would have been so much easier with Vilkas. They would be nice, even. Anwen wasn’t sure she could settle for nice though.

 

\------

 

 

Anwen debated for as long as she could stand to before finally she picked up a quill and fresh parchment. It took her multiple attempts before she had something put together that she didn’t entirely hate and hoped could not be misconstrued. Then she sealed the parchment with wax and took it to Lydia to deliver. Judging from how easily the housecarl accepted such a menial task, she decided she needed to give her more to do in the future.

The walk back to Jorrvaskr was slow, Anwen happy to take her time and enjoy the view around her. There were still a few derisive looks cast her way when she meandered but most appreciated what she did to stop Alduin even if they were not fond of her decisions after the fact. The closer she came to the Companion’s home base, the clearer the fighting became. The clang of metal and Farkas’ growl of instruction settled warmth in her heart.

It wasn’t the same but she could settle there. The idea of bringing a child into the ancient halls of Jorrvaskr was an interesting one and also a frightening one. For nothing else there were far too many pointed objects around and drunken brawls. She went down to her room and was making up a small pack when a knock landed on her door.

“As requested,” Vilkas said as he stepped forwards and offered her a thick, durable steel chain. Anwen let it fall into her hand and quickly moved to her desk draw, collecting the ring and sliding it onto the metal, settling it around her neck. She could not afford to lose it.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him. “What did Eorlund make of the request?”

“Grumbled a good while,” Vilkas smirked at her. “When do you leave?”

“A few hours. Lydia took Onyx. I’ve arranged passage on a carriage to Winterhold.”

Vilkas glanced at her apparel. “You’ll need something warmer than that up there.”

Anwen went to her wardrobe and produced a large, heavy bear-skin cloak and laid it on the bed. “I am prepared.”

“So it seems,” he crossed his arms and leant against the wall. “You don’t have to go.”

“It’s a smaller commute from there,” they’d discussed this when she had made her decision but there was something else too. Anwen sat on the bed and looked up at him. “I can’t be Harbinger anymore.”

Vilkas’ eyes widened but she spoke quickly before he could protest. “Harbinger is meant to give guidance but you have always been the one guiding me. I won’t even guess what was going through Kodlak’s mind when he named me Harbinger, but I don’t think it was this.”

“Anwen,” he sighed heavily. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Actually I do. The Companion’s deserve a Harbinger who devotes their life to it. Whose sole focus is keeping them strong. I’ll never be able to commit so fully. Definitely not with a child and we are _meant_ to be politically neutral. Being the mother to the King’s child doesn’t speak much of neutrality to me.”

“You’ve made your mind then?”

“I have,” she smirked at him. “And as my last act, I name you Vilkas as the next Harbinger of the Companions.”

“You –“ he sputtered and let out a resigned sigh. “It would be an honour.”

“I’m still a Companion,” she stood and clasped his shoulder, squeezed it. Her heart was pounding as she gathered her pack and shouldered it. She knew it was the right decision. Regardless of what came next she could not give the Companion’s the focus they needed. Not as Harbinger. “Lydia will collect what remains of my belongings here when she returns.”

“Do you intend to travel alone?”

Anwen raised her hand and let fire dance over it. “Pregnant I may be but I am still the dragonborn. I hardly need an escort.”

Vilkas huffed and followed her out of her former chambers and up the stairs to the mead hall. Aela had headed out the day previous to deal with a sabretooth tiger in the area and Farkas was still out with the welps. Parted of her wanted to say bye personally but she couldn’t bring herself to. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Vilkas.

He squeezed her tightly. “Figure out what you’re going to say yet?” he murmured as she withdrew and she chuckled.

“You know me. I’m more of the spur of the moment type. Keep safe.”

“And you. Come home whenever you need us. Or just because you want to.”

She clutched his shoulder before she moved towards the door. He waited near the fire pit. Her heart toyed with her mind as she walked away. She knew it was the right thing to do but she already missed the warmth of their companionship. They were her friends. Vilkas was the only person who she had chosen to tell the truth too and he had accepted it without derision or disgust.

It wasn’t like she was leaving forever, though. The choice to return would remain should her discussions take a turn that way. The carriage driver was already prepared and waiting when she exited the city and smiled at her. It was the same person who had taken her away from Windhelm that cold morning.

He helped her into the carriage, “It’s going to be a long day miss. If the weather turns we might need to stop at a tavern along the way.” 

“Alright,” she settled herself in as best she could. It was going to be awful on her back, carriages always were. She gathered her cloak around her and used some clothing from her pack to cushion the seat below her.

When the carriage jolted forwards, she quickly fell into the sway of it, idly picking up the ring and twirling it in her fingers as they moved.

\----


	31. Chapter 31

 

Winterhold was exactly as she remembered it. Cold as ice and frightfully empty. The college sat proudly in the distance but Anwen only got half-way there before a familiar sight greeted her. She certainly hadn’t expected to see him.

“Wuunferth?” she called as he stepped towards her with a smile. “What in the divines are you doing here?”

“I was here when your missive came informing us of your impending arrival. I thought I would stay to greet you.”

“Thank you,” she accepted his offered arm as they walked the bridge to the college proper together. He immediately began to fill the air with stories of his most recent discovery of a new spell that he was in the midst of testing within the safety of the college.

When they drew close, she was greeted by Colette and Tolfdir who both beamed at the sight of her.

“Arch-mage,” Tolfdir smiled, bowing slightly. “It is good that you have returned to us.”

“You look unwell,” Colette stepped forwards and placed a hand on her forehead. “Have you been eating properly?”

Anwen looked up to Wuunferth who shook his head. “The Arch-mage has had a long journey. Let her rest before you start your questioning.”

Reluctantly, the two moved aside and Anwen was guided to her chambers by Wuunferth. He waited by the door as she settled down her pack and went about making some tea. She needed to feel warmth inside her again. These walls were familiar but she had forgotten how keen the cold could bite.

“Are you staying long?” she asked as she combined herbs into a tankard. Wuunferth stepped in, considering her lodgings.

“I had planned to return to Windhelm within the week, unless you would have need of me?”

“Actually, I do,” she smiled over her shoulder and offered him a cup as she sat down on a bench. Wuunferth came to sit beside her and waited. “I suspect Ulfric will be arriving in a day or two. For negotiations.”

His eyebrow raised. “Negotiations of what?”

She rested her hand on her stomach. The bulge was small but there and undeniable under her touch. “I should never have stopped pilfering your stores,” she sighed. “Might have forgotten to take a potion or two.”

Wuunferth considered her, eyes slowly narrowing as realisations dawned. “Ah.” 

She carefully removed the necklace from under her robes, lifting it from its resting place against her skin and handing it to the man beside her. Wuunferth measured it for a long time before he handed it back. She readjusted it around her neck.

“Marriage negotiations?”

“We’ll see,” she sighed. For all the answers had seemed clear cut on paper she couldn’t reject it or accept without speaking further with him. Aela had sat down with her once and asked why the issue with Elisif still tore at her when it was her sitting with his ring before her. Anwen had said it was trust. Aela asked what he could honestly do to hurt her again if they were married; he could hardly throw her away after all.

Anwen wasn’t sure she could take finding out what he could do.

Vilkas’ words sat heavily with her too. She couldn’t cut Ulfric out. She was carrying his child and that came with ties. What form those ties would take she was not sure. She hoped that this talk on somewhat neutral grounds would clarify some things. She also hoped that with help, it might not devolve into a shouting match that had her running out into the snow.

“Will you mediate?”

“This seems very personal, Arch-Mage.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t be trusted to not do something I would regret. Hitting him across the face is treason now, after all.”

Wuunferth sighed heavily. She didn’t relish the thought of bringing other people into this but she was also more than a little scared of being alone with him. Not for his actions but for hers.

“I will be there in whatever capacity you need, Arch-Mage,” Wunnferth stood and settled his tankard down. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Thank you, Wuunferth. It means a lot to me.”

The old mage nodded and headed downstairs leaving Anwen to consider her abode for the next few days. She had never stayed her long. After what had happened with Ancano there had been other things to pull her back into the thick of it but it was a beautiful apartment. Roomier than her one in Jorrvaskr, it even felt bigger than some of her houses. It didn’t have the warmth of the other places, and not just because of the climate.

Slowly she changed out of her travel clothes, placed weapons on her weapons stand and settled into a more comfortable dress. There was no need for swords or staves here to defend herself. When she was comfortable, she curled up in her bed and let the weight of a day’s travel catch up with her and send her into the blissful unknown.

\------

There was surprisingly little for Anwen to do at the College; unlike when she had arrived with the Companions. The trainers knew their duty well-enough and kept most things running smoothly. The only thing that she had was a small pile of requests from various individuals vying to join the college. The ones that made it to her were the ones that seemed most unusual, other’s having been accepted.

Anwen approved all but one, the individual’s links to the Thalamor cautioning her, and went about perusing the College. Any lasting damage from her battle with Ancano had been repaired and those who had lost their lives’ remains had been moved along. Students trained around her; some she recognised from her own time, others were new.

Three days passed and she was sitting in the library, tomes spread out before her when her work was disturbed with a clearing of a throat.

Anwen turned to the sight of Tolfdir. He looked a little anxious. “A messenger arrived for you, the High King awaits your presence in the Jarl’s Longhouse.”

Closing the tome, she stood and asked, “Fetch Wuunferth for me?” before heading to her room to collect her cloak. By the time she exited the main building, Wuunferth was waiting, standing beside Galmar.

The housecarl stared at her a long moment before grunting, “Come on.”

Anwen had no words for his foul mood and just followed the man, Wuunferth taking his place by her side. She felt uneasy walking to the longhouse. Part of her had expected him to come directly to the College but perhaps that was too much to ask. It was she had requested to speak to him in the frigid North, it was only fair that he got to decide where precisely within that they met.

There was laughter spilling out of the longhouse when the doors opened and warmth that she was thankful for, even with her thick cloak. Korir was sitting at the table beside Ulfric’s who’s expression was hard. It was Korir and his wife who were laughing at something. Both of their expressions soured when they saw her.

“Arch-Mage,” Korir greeted, voice infused with his distaste. He made no attempt to hide his dislike of the College. “I would offer you a drink but I doubt our meagre offerings would suit your tastes.”

Anwen pursed her lips. Ulfric stood and inclined his head towards her before baring down on the man beside him, “Be careful, Korir, I do not like your tone.”

“My King,” the Jarl bowed his head. “I meant no offence of course.”

“Of course,” she returned but rolled her eyes. “Because you have never made your dislike of the College known at all nor have you shown your prejudice against those of us with magic.”

“I would not need to, if mages like yourself had not destroyed this once beautiful hold, envied by the others.”

“You accuse as if that event happened in either of our lives. It would be better for all should you simply move on. Restore your hold to its former glory as your wish but moaning like a small child about it will do you little good.”

“How dare you –“ the Jarl rose in indignation but the fire died when Ulfric cast him a withering look. 

“Leave us,” Ulfric demanded.

“My King –“

“Now.”

Korir and his wife reluctantly stood and made for one of the side rooms, leaving the four of them somewhat awkwardly standing around the space. Galmar was the first to move, trudging over to Ulfric’s side.

Wuunferth stayed by her and the glare he earnt from Ulfric made her wonder if her asking him to stay was unfair. She did not mean to pull him into a game of loyalty. She decided to ask him about it another time.

Ulfric gestured them over to a table and slowly she walked over, sitting opposite him with Wuunferth at her side. Galmar kept his place behind his king. She struggled to meet his gaze but forced herself to, saw the pain in his expression.

“What it is that you wish to say that has brought us here?” He asked carefully. She didn’t have words in that moment so she focused on making herself comfortable. The temperature difference between the main hall and outdoors was stark and her heavy coat was quickly becoming stifling. Carefully she focused on undoing the clasp before standing as necessary to fully remove the cloak. There were far too many eyes focused at her stomach when she sat again for comfort.

“Your letter.”

“I believe the contents offered no confusion,” he raised his brow and she sighed.

He wanted it to be clear cut but it never would be. Not with the mountains that already stood between them. “I do not trust you.”

“What is it that you do not trust?” he demanded. “My word? I would not lie about this.”

“I trust that you meant your proposal,” she defended and calmed but the words were struggling to come out of her throat.

“You are still upset,” Ulfric guessed. “About Elisif.” She winced involuntarily at the mention and Ulfric sighed. “If that is all that is stopping you, it should not be an issue. There will never be a point in this life or the next where I would choose her over you.”

“There are other things,” she insisted. Mountains of them that she knew. Some would hurt her to mention, others him. Regardless, she pushed onwards. “We all know what I was. Plenty enough people do.”

“I do not care what has been. And those that would slander your name would suffer.”

“You cannot torture or jail those for speaking the truth. I was a whore, Ulfric. That has implications, consequences. I cannot be your wife, let alone your queen.”

“You can. Your past is your own. You have changed. Made a name for yourself. Dragonborn, Arch-Mage, Harbinger,” she grimaced at that one but did not make moves to correct him. “If anyone has the right to rule this country, it is you.”

“You dismiss the problem as if it doesn’t exist,” she let out a frustrated noise and glanced to Wuunferth to simply calm down, speaking the words to him and then the wood of the table between them. “Your child will be no true Nord. He will be half-Breton.”

Ulfric shook his head and practically glared at her. “Stop, Anwen. Just _stop_. Cease in your attempts to give yourself reason to back away from this. I have thought it all through and made my decision. I know what you are, who you’ve been, not all but enough. You dwell on the negative but I see the light. Breton, yes, but what does that matter when the blood of a dragon runs through your veins? No one would question the strength of our child.” She clenched her jaw as he continued. “You either want to be my wife or you don’t. That is what this comes down to.”

Her heart was pounding because it wasn’t that simple but he wouldn’t see it her way. She had longed for this before. Years ago she would have given anything to be in this position and she still loved him, divines help her she did, but fear and mistrust were old friends between them.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Then tell me how to help you trust me again.”

“Just –” she squeezed her eyes shut. She forced herself to think of what she needed to know, the reasons why she couldn’t agree or decline without further knowledge. The words sat in her throat and clouded her tone as she began, “If I leave – if I refuse –” the words burned her heart and his gaze, even unable to see it as she was, was all-encompassing. “What happens then?”

“It would be unadvisable to let the King claim the child,” Wuunferth spoke for his King and Anwen was glad, looking at him. It was easier. “A bastard would be seen as a challenge and also a tool. As the dragonborn, people look up to you. You would be unable to keep a child secret which would mean either you spun a story or they did. Given the number of people who know of your closeness to the King, it is likely the relationship would be known, although as an unacknowledged rumour.”

Ulfric’s words were low, barely even, “I would support you. Monetary or otherwise.”

“For the safety of all involved, it would be advised that you are kept apart,” Wuunferth told Ulfric. “From Anwen and your child.”

“And Skyrim will still need an heir,” Galmar grunted. Ulfric’s jaw clenched, she saw it from the corner of her eyes. “And you a husband.”

The weight of the words settled on her. The implications were heavy. They were not spoken to scare; they were just the truth. There would be no outcome where Ulfric would be able to see his child. Not as _his_ child anyway. The prospect did things to her heart. More so when he leant across the table and collected her hands.

She did not pull them free. “I made a mistake,” he murmured and she didn’t meet his eyes. “I want to rectify that. Please, let me try.”

Anwen chewed her lip, felt time slow and speed up all at once. When she removed her hands from his, she moved them to her neck, removing the chain and taking the ring from them. She handed it back to him. Everything stilled and she felt she could hear the beating of her heart at the way his expression twisted.

“Leave us,” Ulfric ordered and she didn’t breathe between the words and the sound of the door shutting behind them. “This is your answer?”

“I don’t want to do this alone,” she murmured and her throat twisted the words. They weren’t steady. She felt broken and perhaps she had gone about this wrong, she had not intended her returning to ring to signalise what it clearly had.

“Then don’t,” Ulfric insisted. “I would make no obligations on you,” his words were pleading, fast spoken. “Whatever you give me is already more than I deserve.”

“Ulfric,” she mumbled the word, stilling him before her emotions were sent over. She couldn’t put it into words what she meant and so she quietly told him what she could, “Ask me again.”

Slowly, carefully, he collected both of her hands in his, and brought them to his lips. He kissed every knuckle and her heart was pounding, lighting exploding down her spine from the look in his eyes as he told her with a clear, strong voice. “I would spend the rest of my days by your side. Would you?”

There was a pain in her heart and her chest was tied in knots. “I will, Ulfric.”

He was around the table before the word was finished, grabbing her into his arms. She clung back to him, felt a sob escape her. He pulled back and slid the ring onto her finger. It was too big but she didn’t care as she let their fingers intertwine.

“Come back with me to Windhelm. The cold cannot be good for you.”

“It’s hardly warmer in Windhelm,” she reminded and slowly took a step back. There was still more to be said, still more to be healed. He saw it in her face and did not push for anything above what she had already given him. Anwen wondered if he would stay true to his rushed promise. “But I will. Give me a day to arrange things.”

Ulfric nodded and brushed the hair from her face behind her ear. “I can have a more suitable ring made now.”

“This is fine,” she told him really not wanting to fuss. It was already too much and she needed to breathe. Needed to back away but he was looking at her with wonderment that stilled her.

“Not quite,” he twirled the ring around her finger. “I would be glad for you to wear this ring, if you would keep it, but I should have it altered.”

Her heart pounded as he slid it off of her finger, glancing down at it. “Is that what you want?”

“The decision is yours,” she mumbled and he sighed, dropping his shoulders.

“You’ve not forgiven me. Not yet. I am not lying, Anwen. I hope in time you will see that.”

Anwen moved to collect her cloak and Ulfric helped drape it over her shoulders. The warmth infused her but she still fought it. “I will stay in Hjerm when I return to Windhelm, until the wedding.”

Ulfric nodded and did not try to stop her as she headed outside. Galmar and Wuunferth were speaking but silenced at the sight of her. The housecarl went inside without a word, the mage taking her arm. It was snowing now.

“I agreed,” she told him which clearly startled the old mage.

“You’re sure?”

“About as sure as I can be.”

“Then let’s get you home. A storm is coming.”

\------


	32. Chapter 32

They journeyed together to Windhelm. It was thankfully only half a day’s ride; Anwen wasn’t sure that she could manage a longer journey for a number of reasons. Even then, she chose a carriage over a horse. Ulfric didn’t argue with her and slowed his own steed to ride beside the carriage. Wuunferth sat inside it with her.

They didn’t talk and she didn’t push. She wondered what twisted destiny of hers had her make this journey so many times after promising never to do so again. Each time she had left she had had a compelling reason and every time in which she returned it seemed the same was true.

The city was as beautiful as the first day that she had seen it; it sparkled amongst the sky, covered in snow but offering warmth of the sun inside. There was a pull here she could not deny. As if a part of her never truly left. Ulfric helped her out of the carriage, letting her hand go when her feet were upon the ground.

“Thank you,” she murmured and his gaze was deep. A noise broke his stare and she quickly turned to Wuunferth as her heart pounded onwards.

Galmar pulled Ulfric to the side to say something as she collected her pack from the carriage and let her heart settle. It was difficult to be back but also so easy.

He walked by her side into the city and she was accosted by the scent that was entirely him clawing up her nose and stirring something primal that she actively squashed. When they reached the turn in their path; one fork leading to her home, the other to the Palace, he stilled her.

“A formal announcement will need to be made,” he informed her and she nodded, biting her lip. It had always been about them and throwing it into the open like this terrified her in ways she hadn’t expected to feel. People had always known about her and Ulfric, particularly in the city. Soon everyone who was anyone would know. There was nothing for it. Anwen was betrothed to Ulfric and she knew that eventually, she would sit by his side as his queen. There was to be no more hiding between them. “I do not wish to strain you,” he murmured finally when her throat refused words and she felt his unwillingness to push fighting his desire for more. “Alas, if you could see fit to come to the Palace soon, I would be glad.”

“I’ll see.”

He bowed his head to her and departed, Galmar on his tail and she hesitated unsure which path to take. Wuunferth came to stand by her side. “I am here if you need me, Arch-Mage.”

“Sorry for dragging you into this.”

The old mage sighed and crossed his arms. “Ulfric will always be my king but,” he turned to her and smile. “You will soon be my queen. I remember the girl sneaking through my cupboards looking for ingredients. A lot has changed since then. Both you and him. The entire kingdom will benefit from this. I have seen Windhelm through dark times and light and you are certainly a light.”

She felt her cheeks flame and hoped to blame it on the cold. “Thank you, Wuunferth.”

“Go. Rest.”

Inclining her head, she did just that. The path to Hjerim was not a long one but she took her time, smiled to those who nodded to her.

Calder was clearly surprised to see her return and hastily began moving things around and making dinner. Anwen took her time as she glanced around the rooms she had left. Hjerim was not her favourite home for the memories that came with it. More nights than not she had stayed in the Palace after all. Alas it was certainly her largest and it was beautifully decorated. A perfect home. For all she had not used it those past months she felt adrift at the prospect of losing it. Something that spurred an idea in her mind.

It would keep until the morning. Eventually, after a hearty meal that beat anything she had had in Winterhold, she retired to her room and spent a long time undoing, brushing and braiding her hair again. The actions calmed her. Allowed her focus to shift from the unbelievable inevitability of where she was sitting.

The sky was dark and she turned to her wardrobe, sighing at the clothing she found within. She had settled into dresses in more recent weeks for comfort and she found few of them inside. Pulling an old, loose, white linen shirt out and changing into that, she finally relaxed in her bed.

It felt odd to be back in that bed although it was comfortable and soft. She had never needed softness and comfort before now when her body craved it. To all but a keen eye, she did not look any different yet but she felt it. There would be no more fighting for her until this was done. When she considered the months spent camping on the cold ground, eating questionable rations, throwing herself into life or death situations daily, she bit her lip. She had enjoyed it at times; the thrill of battle, the sweet taste of victory, but she could see now a family.

That life was likely gone. A queen could not spend weeks exploring abandoned caves. Her heart was undecided if it was happy about the loss or not. It was never what she had dreamed as a child. Alas, no child’s imagination was wild enough to predict her life.

The air was cool here but comfortably so unlike the frigidness of Winterhold and it was quieter without the thrum of magic buzzing around her. She settled on her side, one hand cradling her stomach. It was still bizarre to her. To think that a piece of both of them grew inside of her and that in a few months she would be a mother. 

As much as she had not desired this at the time and as terrible as the timing was, she knew there wasn’t another in her life whose child she would want to carry. Ulfric and her had been intertwined for years. It had been anyone’s guess how it was going to play out. She smiled to herself at the prospect of bets being taken about whether Ulfric would return alone or not.

Considering where she lay, the life beneath her hands, she knew that this was different. Before, Ulfric would have never allowed this to happen. And if it somehow still had, she sincerely doubted he would have offered her his hand. Now, their child would have a family. They would know their father and be safe. The thoughts eclipsed her own apprehensions and allowed her to find sleep.

\------

Anwen found Wuunferth in the morning the next day. He was working around his enchanting table but stilled upon her approach, turning to smile at her. She realised idly that he was the closest thing she had to a father. Who else did she have to turn to here? Who else protected when it was probably in his best interest to not? He offered her a seat and made her a tea, promising it was good for her as she sat.

“When we spoke in Winterhold,” she began taking a sip. It was sweet and warm and she clutched to it. “You mentioned ‘marriage negotiations’. What did you mean?”

Wuunferth considered her. “It is not uncommon for marriages to be drawn up alongside contracts. Rights to land and holdings, are often detailed alongside rights of succession, as are promises of loyalty, dowry’s, arrangements with pre-existing families.”

“Could I have such things written into my marriage?”

“I don’t see why not. What sort of things did you have in mind?”

She flattened out a piece of parchment and handed it over. There were a few things on there she had in mind. She didn’t know if it would be enough but she just needed an extra layer of protection. Once she would have given over everything. Now, however.

Anwen watched Wuunferth’s face as he scanned the list, nodding to himself. “All seem doable,” he agreed and then lowered it. “Give me a few days to draw up a contract. I assume you want me present when you go to him with this?”

“I am not the best with words.”

The last few months had taught her that.

“Okay. I will try and arrange a meeting. Now,” he studied her. “Ulfric came to me about your pregnancy. He wishes me to ensure you are in good health. I have to admit, I am no true expert, alas I spoke to Colette in detail after you told me in Winterhold. I would like to perform an examination.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” she smiled at him and let him position her on the cot. Honestly, she felt fine. That didn’t stop her from following his instruction and letting him work his magic over her, healing even the tiniest of cuts as he went.

It didn’t last long but he seemed satisfied when he told her to sit. They spoke a bit longer about things around the Palace. There would be new responsibilities for her to undertake and he offered her advice as best he could. Anwen knew that she would never just be Ulfric’s wife. Not when he was High King. Instead, she would have duties and roles that she could only dream of. Wuunferth went into detail on the sort of things to expect and Anwen quickly decided whilst she might not adventure anymore, she would certainly still be busy.

The morning went by in that vein and she felt entirely underprepared.

She would be Queen. The prospect became more dominating by the minute.

When she finally left, she was pulled by the smell of food and went down to the kitchens were Sifnar greeted her. News had already spread around the palace and he refused to even entertain the idea of her helping him out now she was to be the lady of the Palace, but he did make her something small.

When she told him the other news, which he hadn’t been told, he jumped and began making further preparations. She laughed when he asked her for a list of foods that she had found herself more inclined towards to ensure they had a ready supply. His eyes were deadly serious however and she felt warmth in her heart as she called him a fool and told him everything.

Eventually, not wanting to overstay her welcome in the kitchens or get him into trouble, she left feeling lighter. It was so easy for those in power to forget those who kept their houses running but she knew she never would.

Ulfric who hadn’t been on the throne when she had last walked through the main hall, was this time and stood and walked towards her.

Anwen stilled and waited. “Ulfric,” she greeted and he inclined his head.

“Where is your housecarl?”

“Hjerim?” she guessed, Ulfric sighed.

“I would prefer you kept someone close. Someone you can trust.”

“Oh?”

She watched him wearily as he made a gesture over her head. When she heard footsteps coming towards them she crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “What are you doing?”

“Another guard. Don’t worry, I know you’re well acquainted.”

She was set to complain when she heard a familiar voice, “Anwen.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see Ralof approaching. She wanted to protest. She really wanted to protest. Turning to look at Ulfric, she saw that he knew it too. He stepped closer to her, murmuring in her ear as a hand came to rest against her stomach. “I know you can handle yourself. I do not doubt your abilities. Just – do this for our child. I would not lose them or you.”

She bit her lip and nodded as he pulled back. “Fine.”

Ulfric addressed the Stormcloak wearily. “She doesn’t leave the Palace without you or one of her housecarls, understood?”

“Of course, my king.”

She turned but his hand caught her wrist. She looked at him curiously as he lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, “Keep safe.”

Shaking her head at the feeling in her chest, wondering why her heart had never learnt the lesson of pain, she headed out the door, letting Ralof inform her of what she had missed as they went.

\-----

The wedding was scheduled for a fortnight after her arrival and Anwen excused herself from much of the planning. She had never been the type to sit down and choose drapes and she wasn’t going to do so now. If Ulfric had expected it from her, he would have been sorely surprised. However, he didn’t push the issue. Instead the planning fell upon Jorleif. The steward had been given orders not to disturb her with such nonsense by Calder when he had first tried to come to her with a decision when she had been preparing for bed.

Since then, Ulfric had to deal with the tedious details and she smirked at the prospect of his frustrations. Flowers, what food was served, who was invited – she had very little input. Only ensuring that those closest to her would be there for morale support if nothing else. The only thing she did choose to have a say in was the dress. She was offered a multitude of extravagant pieces but none of them felt right for her. In the end, she chose one of the simpler pieces, still thinking it too pure for her but her handmaidens had gushed about it.

Anwen hated having handmaidens. She resolved to be rid of them or make as little use as possible of them when the wedding was done with. Ralof had been the one to point out to her that she may have use of them after the baby was born, a point that she had to concede.

There was more to her marriage than being tied to Ulfric and she had to be prepared for certain tasks; court, dances, being diplomatic. It filled most of her days as she prepared. In that time, she spoke little with Ulfric and she wasn’t overly upset about that. Her body could not decide between letting her blood boil at the sight of him or her heart flutter.

Her anger remained. Regardless of anything that had passed between them, it was still there and still burned her. Mentions of _certain_ things rattled her more. Ulfric was not hiding anything from her as best she could tell but whenever she saw his advisors enter his war room, she felt doubt bubble. Her mind warred when it came to trust. She had let him in too many times and had that broken but she did believe in his care for her and their child.

With such a volatile mix of feeling in her mind, she did think it was best to keep her distance from him. Something that was surprisingly easy. For all she had things to learn and do, he had many more tasks. When Wuunferth came to her, shaking his head, she should not have been surprised.

The mage had been trying, unsuccessfully, to secure a meeting. He had told her on a bad day where she had been pacing her room like a trapped animal for no reason save her favourite dress no longer fit.

Wuunferth was silent as she stormed towards the palace, having thrown on an old, tattered robe. Jorleif had made steps towards her when she entered only to quickly retreat. She understood that he was having about as much joy with wedding arrangements and Ulfric as she was with him. They were due to be wed in two days.

Dragging Wuunferth into the war room, she glared down Ulfric, Galmar, and the new people around the table some of whom she did not recognise. Pointing her gaze at the latter, she demanded, “Leave.”

They flicked their gaze to Ulfric who straightened and nodded. There was a fire within her and a cooking pot of emotions that always seemed a second away from boiling over. Ralof said it was due to the pregnancy, Anwen didn’t care.

When the door was shut, Ulfric sighed. “Anwen.”

“Ulfric,” she returned ignoring the smirk on Galmar’s face as he considered the king. “Done ignoring me?” 

“There is a lot to attend to. Things that must be done before the wedding even.”

“As does this,” she crossed her arms and stared down Ulfric until he relented; shoulders dropping and offering his arm across the table.

“I am listening.”

“Forgive the intrusion, my King,” Wuunferth began as he plucked the scroll from his sleeve and laid it out on the table. It was a detailed contract based on her requests. Ulfric glanced at it and scowled.

“What is that?”

“A solution to some issues of trust,” Anwen retorted and Ulfric surprised her by running his hands down his face.

Galmar let out an amused huff of air.

“What would you have me do?”

Wuunferth spoke. It reminded her somewhat of the peace talks that happened in High Hrothgar, only this time without anywhere near as high stakes. Anwen felt that she’d done quite well at that one. “Lady Anwen has a few stipulations. Agreements made before the wedding that will last into it.”

A frustrated noise left Ulfric’s throat but he gestured that the mage should continue. “Anwen wishes to retain all her titles. She will still be known as dragonborn as well as your wife.”

Ulfric’s eyes burned as he turned to her. “Done.” 

“To keep her homes and monetary wealth free of the crown.” 

“What so she can run away again?” Galmar huffed but Ulfric lifted his hand. “Fine. Fine.”

“To retain her position within the College of Magi for as long as she chooses.”

Confusion flickered over his face, “Not the Companions?”

“I have already relinquished that title,” she murmured and felt the questions forming in his mind.

“As long as it does not interfere with her duties as queen,” Ulfric decided after a long minute and Wuunferth scribbled something on his scroll, leaning against the now-empty map of Skyrim.

“And finally, for her relationships within the guilds, both Mage, Companions and Thieves, to not be manipulated for use by the crown.”

“Thieves Guild?” he shot at her. “Really?”

“Former,” she repeated. “I still have friends, however.”

Ulfric shook his head as Galmar murmured something under his breath. Anwen held her head high. They weren’t as bad as people painted them and did some good. However, she couldn’t defend them too much, knowing her reasons for leaving that Guild as early as she had.

“And this is the last demand?” Ulfric pointed to the scroll with his eyes. “No other surprises?”

“None,” Wuunferth agreed, laying out the writing. The contract was already written, the one amendment scratched on. All that was left was to sign it.

“You could have just asked. But if this is what you need, so be it,” Ulfric told her picking up the quill and scribbling his name.

“Thank you,” she felt a small wedge of relief as she added her own signature. There was something bubbling between them, burning in his eyes. Perhaps it was an argument, perhaps something else. Either way it never came to fruition, Wuunferth adding his signature before rolling the parchment and passing it to Anwen. She collected it and slid it up her sleeve before leaving. “I will let you get back to work,” she bowed her head before departing.

When she shut the door behind her, she thought she heard Galmar laughing but couldn’t be sure. With the scroll, she felt better. Not much but she knew that she could maintain her freedom and that was worth a lot.


	33. Chapter 33

The day before the wedding, the Companions arrived in Windhelm. Not all of them, Farkas having drawn the apparent short-straw to stay and look after the welps, but seeing Aela and Vilkas turned her apprehensive mood away completely. She accepted them into her home with open arms, a brief embrace from each of them.

Aela dropped her pack by the door and hunted out something to eat as Vilkas considered her. “You look better than when I saw you last. More settled.”

“I don’t like indecision,” she defended with a shrug.

“Your talks in Winterhold went well then?”

“The cold might have encouraged me along,” she smirked and settled at the table with him. There was plenty of food already there but Aela returned with a bowl of something hot not long after, wolfing it down.

Her teeth glinted as she beamed at Anwen.

“Think you’ll ever give up the lycanthropy?” she asked the huntress idly.

Aela considered for a while and then glanced to the ceiling. “Whenever I think about it, all I can see is Skorj left there, waiting. I don’t want to leave him alone.”

Anwen inclined her head. It had never been specifically stated but she had always thought something between the two of them. In its own way, what Aela said confirmed it. They settled down together before the fire and Anwen was eager to listen to them recount everything that had happened since she had left. It had not been long at all but she sometimes felt so far away from everything now. Some days, darker days, when she was alone in her room she felt trapped in her body; unable to go out and do what she was good at. Then she remembered the months on cold, hard floors, waking up in the dead of night to fight for her life, and just how awful stale bread became.

Still, she enjoyed listening to their adventures. Of their runs in’s with leopards and bears. Vilkas joked that they would have taken down a giant if it wouldn’t have made them late.

“I am sure it won’t have gotten far,” she winked turning to Vilkas. “Not like they have anywhere else to be.” she reminded, happy to settle back.

“Aye. And the hunt will be good for us.”

“Must be difficult, keeping out of trouble,” Aela drawled. “You’ve always been a magnet for it.”

“Different kind of trouble. Now I have to watch what I say. Imagine that.”

Aela snorted. “I’m still trying to imagine you with a crown.” Anwen made a noise in the back of her throat. That was another one of those things that she had told herself that she had accepted but realistically had simply chosen not to think of it. “Course, you can always come back with us if you want. Leave the silly pomp to those better suited for it. Plenty warm in Whiterun. Plenty to do too.”

Aela’s voice was light-hearted, joking even but her eyes were searching. It felt as though it was some kind of test. Anwen considered her words carefully as she settled her hands on her stomach, the life she could sense within her. “It’ll be a change but a good one, I reckon. I can’t spend _every_ day of my life fighting.”

Aela look set to protest but Vilkas placed his hand over her arm, squeezed and the woman quietened. The life of a warrior was a good one, for a time. Eventually age catches up with everyone. It happened to Kodlak, probably didn’t help Skorj either. When Anwen thought of living that hard life the rest of her days she knew she didn’t want to do that. As much as she hadn’t expected it, she did want a family. A legacy more than just a name.

“I know that it wasn’t an easy decision,” she tried to explain. They were her friends, different to Ralof and Wuunferth, and they cared about her deeply. Ulfric may be their king but their loyalties lay with her. “But I think it’s the right one.”

Vilkas met her gaze and nodded. “Then we’re happy.”

“I’d be happier if I knew more about this frigid city! Divine’s help me, Anwen. How does anyone live here?”

Their conversation moved into jibes and genuine interest as Anwen explained as best she could that she would neither be alone nor bored in the city. There was plenty to do in Windhelm and as the life grew inside her she found more comfort that Ulfric would be there for her. The pull that she had always felt towards him was stronger but she was too. The feelings that would have had her going to his door every night were much easier contained now. She had worked hard to carve a way out for herself and she was determined to keep it that way.

Anwen didn’t know how things would go with Ulfric. All she knew was that thus far he had kept his word. He made no demands on her time nor her daily life. In fact, he was being distant enough that were it not for the longing glances she bore witness to whenever they were in proximity or the fact that she was marrying him, she might have been able to convince herself that he had lost interest.

The hour grew late as they discussed the past and the future. What Harbinger had planned and what the Queen would do. It was weighted at times but lightened by jokes and friendship. When the candles burned low, Aela retired, claiming Calder’s room who had gone to the inn for the night.

Vilkas sat to her side with a bottle of mead. Anwen passed at the smell, clinging to some tea Wuunferth had passed her way.  

“If you ever need to get away,” he told her. “Even just escaping court for a week, Jorrvaskr will always have a place for you.”

“How is it being Harbinger?”

“Different but the same.”

“Having doubts?” she asked but any answer was interrupted by the knock to her door. She frowned and Vilkas went to it. It opened only a crack.

“What do you want?” he demanded and Anwen stood, brow creasing as she moved to the space behind Vilkas, frowning when she realised who it was.

“Jorleif, what in the divines?”

Vilkas stood aside and considered her with a raised brow. “You know him?”

“I do. Although why he is at my house right now –“

“Here,” Jorleif shoved and it suddenly made sense to her. The package in his hand was a beige colour. She’d only seen it once before. “It’s been adjusted. Hang it for morning.”

The steward turned and left, a tired looking guard following after him and Anwen swallowed. Vilkas nodded to it. “Your dress?”

“Aye.”

The room descended into silence and she felt the weighted blanket fall on her shoulders as her hands clenched around the fabric.

Vilkas came to stand at her side, squeezing her shoulder. “Go get some sleep, Anwen. Tomorrow you become a Stormcloak.”

She didn’t protest. The stairs seemed longer than usual but she forced herself to the top. Her room was the same as always but when she placed the dress over the wardrobe door, it felt different. Vilkas’ words played with her as she sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the gown. It was beautiful. Regal even if it was plain. The sort of thing that Anwen never wore. Tomorrow she would gain a new name. She wouldn’t _be_ Anwen anymore. At least not solely. This name would be real. Permanent. There was no way she would be shrugging it off and choosing something new, so way that she’d be wanting to either.

The thought stuck with her.

She wondered what her mother and father would think if they saw her now. Would they be proud of what she had become or ashamed of what it took for her to get here?

Would they approve of her marriage? Of her choices? Would they even recognise her through all the lies and different lies?

Regardless, the extra strain on her body and the hour forced her to more her gaze away, to tie her hair as her handmaidens had instructed – her promise the only thing having kept them from coming to her this eve to do just that – and fall into her bed.

It was quite possibly the last time she would sleep in it. Certainly the last time she would be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future. She didn’t hate the prospect as much as she thought that she would.

\-----

Her handmaidens arrived at first light and spent well over an hour helping with her preparations. She left them to it, let them mould her. Her hair was opened out to loose ringlets when she awoke. They painted her face but it wasn’t for war. Delicate rouge on her lips and kohl to line her eyes. The entire morning, she focused on her breathing as they got her into a dress too pure for someone with a past as varied and twisted as hers. Her handmaidens gushed about her beauty when she descended the dress ready to say her vows but there was only one opinion in the room she was interested in.

Aela came forwards and adjusted the amulet of Talos around her neck, placing it in full view. “I couldn’t see it until now. Not properly but you look like a queen.”

“The coronation isn’t until later,” She smiled, a tight thing. “I’m not a queen yet. Just marrying the King. Once I would have been overjoyed about this,” she told her friend. “Now, I’m nervous and scared and I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“That would have happened either way,” Aela reassured her with a small smile. As she glanced around the room, Aela added, “Vilkas is already there.”

Anwen nodded and let out a breath. “Shall we then?” 

“Just –“ Aela paused and held her face. “You are going to be married to him for the rest of your life. It might be worth trying not to view this as a life sentence. There’s already at least one good thing to come of this.”

Anwen’s hand settled on her stomach and she smiled. There was something that she had never doubted and that was that she wanted the child. Aela was right about that. It couldn’t stop her from retorting.

“Maybe when I stop wanting to punch him,” she snorted and Aela grinned.

“There’s my girl. Let’s go.”

The air was bracing and those around her ensured her dress wasn’t dirtied as she walked through the streets. The temple wasn’t much warmer and she almost wished for a fur shawl as she was taken to a side room for any last minute preparations and to wait. There were many people gathered within the Temple, important people she could glimpse from where she was.

Ulfric wasn’t yet there.

The priest, Maramal, came to stand by her side as she waited, swallowing hard at the sight of him. He considered her with a gentle smile, “I remember you. You helped my wife Dinya Balu.”

She returned it. “Yes, thank you for coming all this way.”

“I would travel further for love, my lady Anwen.”

Toying with her lip, she paused him before he could move away. “Actually, that’s not my name.”

“Oh?”

Anwen told the priest. It was the first time she’d uttered those names in many years and the first time that she felt confident in using them. She had nothing to hide anymore.

\-----

The room was full and she felt a hundred eyes upon her back as she stared at Maramal. He grinned back at her and she took strength from it, turning to Ulfric. What he wore did not differ much from his regular attire but it was crisper, cleaner. He held his hand out to her and she accepted it, sliding hers between his fingers.

“Let's begin the ceremony,” Maramal clasped his hand and let his voice rise, loud enough to carry in the packed temple.  “It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all.”

He turned to bow to the symbol of Mara, brought especially and positioned close to that of Talos. “We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship. Do you High King Ulfric Stormcloak agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

Ulfric did not waiver, his voice strong and clear. “I do. Now and forever.”

“And do you, Verlenn Gautier, Dragonborn, defeater of Alduin World eater, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, Thane to the holds of Eastmarch, the Rift, Hjaalmarch, the Reach, Falkreath, Whiterun and Haafingar, agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?”

Bowing her head, she let the words flow from her, calm and cool. “I do. Now and forever.”

“Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. I present to the two of you with these rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."

Ulfric collected them both, sliding one onto the hand he held and allowing her to do the same to him. The metal band felt heavier than the last time she wore it, the same signet ring that he had proposed to her with. Her heart pounded he slid his hand into her hair. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, brief, chaste and she did all she could to fight against the explosion ringing forth in her chest.

He released her to applause and announced to all her new title as his queen. There would be a coronation but it would be later, something much smaller she hoped. He slid his hand around her waist as they were congratulated. Moving was slow and it felt like nearly an hour later that he finally led her to the palace where the Throne Room had been transformed. Multiple long tables joined to form a U-shape and enough seating for their guests, already packed with massive ranges of food. Sifnar must have spent over a day on this and she couldn’t even see him.

Ulfric guided her to the head of the table, where two identical thrones now sat. She let herself be lowered into the seat, enjoying the few moments of silence before the other guests arrived.

“How are you feeling?” he let go of her hand and stepped backwards, taking his seat beside her.

“Alright,” she forced a smile unsure if she felt it. She was married. To Ulfric. It felt surreal. “You?”

“Good,” he returned with a better smile than she could muster.

A parade of people began then, coming first to the newlyweds to congratulate before taking their seats at the table. The night was long and people drunk, danced, laughed, cheered, sang. Their mirth ran off on her and she smiled, chuckled at the stories being told but she kept mostly to her chair.

It was the Companions that she spoke to most, leaving Ulfric’s side to be pulled into an embrace first by Vilkas and next by Aela. The former smiled down at her.

“You look beautiful,” he told her and she blushed, punching at his arm. “Although I am unused to seeing you without at least one weapon.”

This time she smirked and shared a glance with Aela. “I have one or two.”

Vilkas bit out a large laugh and Aela chuckled. A few glances came their way but she ignored them all. It had only been a few weeks but she enjoyed listening to what Vilkas told her. They had delayed a few requests to come here and were heading out to Winterhold in the morning to deal with a rogue sabretooth. Aela grinned at the prospect.

She could sense people around them who wanted to speak with her but Vilkas cast an intimidating presence, keeping them back. Eventually, Aela tired of being asked for a dance, agreed to one to shut them up, leaving the two of them alone to talk.

He stood against the wall, looking out on the main hall. They were tucked away in the corner mostly. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t want to do this alone,” at his look she added, “I meant without him. Ulfric is a strong leader and will be a good father. I know that. And as much as he has hurt me – I know that he cares.”

Vilkas placed his hand on her shoulder. “If he ever hurts you, if he ever lays a hand against you or forces you to do something you do not want – I will kill him.”

She smirked. “He couldn’t beat me in a fight even if he wanted but he’s not like that anyway. Ulfric hurts with words.”

“Aela said that you intend to let the Companion’s use your homes if we are in the area.”

“Aye,” she smiled. “Visit me.”

“Of course. We would take you back at Jorrvaskr in a moment.”

“I know,” it had been her home but there was something about Windhelm that settled in her heart. “I will be alright here, Vilkas.”

“I know.”

He pulled her close and she went easily, clinging to him. she had never expected to have so many friends and the feeling warmed her. If she had wanted, she could have done this alone but part of her, a bigger part than she could hope to contain, wanted something else more.

When they pulled apart, he nodded behind them and she turned to where Ulfric was walking towards them. It amused her to see the tightness around his eyes. He had no right to be jealous and after he met her eyes, she knew that he knew it too.

“My queen,” he greeted and she inclined her head towards him. “I remember you for Jorrvaskr but not your name, enlighten me?”

“Harbinger,” Vilkas greeted bowing.

“Yes, my wife told me she had given up that role,” Ulfric’s tone was even. His words sent a flutter through her stomach as he turned to her, brushing loose hair behind her ear. “You have yet to eat.”

His voice was low, only for her and she felt herself blush. “There’s no venison?”

“None,” he promised.

“Until later,” she nodded to Vilkas, letting their arms be linked as he guided her back to their table.

“He seems an honourable sort,” he told her as they sat and he was trying. She had committed to this and so she tried back.

“He is. There was no other choice for Harbinger.”

“Why did you give up your title?”

“I knew I could not dedicate my life to them when there were other, more important things to me,” she spoke softly and felt his gaze burn her.

The conversation descended into silence and eventually Aela came to sit by her side and she spoke to the woman most. She felt the night weighing her down when the fifth keg was brought up from the cellar, felt her conscious begin to slip and leant to her right.

The warm soft fabric caressed her cheek, took her a moment to realise it was Ulfric she had brushed against. She moved her head back but he was already studying her, standing a moment later.

He offered her a hand and as she slid hers into his. She felt fear creep up her neck and through her heart. There was applause as they left the table and she felt her cheeks blush deeply as she took the long steps to his room.

Ulfric opened the door and she stepped inside, stilling in the middle as he shut and locked it behind them. She hesitated where she was as he turned to her, letting out a heavy sigh. “You don’t need to fear me.”

“I don’t,” she promised. She would never be afraid of him but she was nervous as he stepped closer to her, brushed his fingers into her hair and rested their foreheads together.

“I would be doing you a disservice if I did not tell you how you shine brighter than the divines tonight. I am lucky to call you wife.”

She kept her arms by her sides but closed her eyes and breathed him in. This close he never failed to do things to her stomach, merely from his presence. “I will keep my word. Our bed will remain unconsummated if that is your wish.”

“Thank you,” she murmured and he stepped backwards.

“Until I have earned your forgiveness,” he pressed a kiss into her hair. “I will return shortly. Change in peace.”

“You don’t need -“ she tried but her words faulted under his gaze. It was trial enough what he was going through. She felt it herself, the desire to be held. She exhaled when the door shut and looked about her room. Never before she had she been able to call it such.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she simply stared at the signet ring sitting upon her hand. It was real. She was his but he was hers. She undressed and readied for bed, glad to be rid of the paint on her face and feel herself again.

The bed was so soft and comforting, his scent wrapping around her mind, telling her of a safety she could not deny. The pull of sleep was at the edge of her mind. It would have taken only a minute to fall into it but the door opened and she listened instead to the shifting of fabric.

Eventually, the bed dipped to her side and his warmth chased off any chill of the room, his chest moved against her back, his hand dropping onto her stomach. When his breathing slowed she let herself drift again.


	34. Chapter 34

Morning came and she woke alone.

Her hand went to his side of the bed, sighing heavily when she found it cold. How long ago had he left? What time was it? She felt disorientated as she rose, washed and dressed. There was no armour for her here, only dresses that she had sent across a few days ago. As she considered them now she knew she would have to have more made soon.

She collected a plain blue dress and considered it. It was the same pattern as all her old dresses which would not have been an issue if she had chosen looser designs but she had always been proud of her body. When she had nothing else, when she could rely on no one else, her body had saved her. Whether it be the graceful curve of her hip, the ample swell of her bosom or, more recently, the strength in her arm and stamina.

Staring at the mirror now, holding a dress over her frame, deciding whether it was worth the mental trauma of trying it on, she felt disheartened. She had already given up fighting. She was at piece with it but as she considered the slight bulge that prevented the tightly sewn dresses from fitting she realised she would be giving up more than her blade. Everyone had seen those heavy with child. More often than not they waddled and struggled to stand. It was not an easy thing to realise that she would be so reliant during that time. It wouldn’t have been easy for her to rely on anyone but thinking of handing over to Ulfric, when he had let her down so often, knotted her stomach uneasily.

She eventually got it on and was braiding her hair, trying to calm, when the door opened. Her eyes watched him as he moved into the room, settling a tray of food on a table.

“I thought perhaps we could speak,” Ulfric informed her as he poured two drinks and placed empty plates down opposite each other.

Hunger pulled at her and had her sit, taking the food that he offered. It was good, Sifnar’s food always was, but there were still things she avoided. Such as the jam. Something about strawberries turned her stomach, thankfully not quite the same way deer did.

In the end she only ate a piece of fruit and two slices of toast. Ulfric looked at her concerned, brow creasing. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m still figuring out what I can eat without consequence.”

He nodded.  “I had heard such things could occur. As well as cravings?”

“Sifnar has a list,” she told him honestly with a small smile and there was something comfortable about that topic. More so than the others. “The sickness has passed,” she offered.

“That’s good to know.”

From the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes studied her, she knew this would not be easy. They needed to sort things out and she sincerely hoped it would work out better than their usual attempts, crossing her hands before her and considered him in turn. “Ulfric.”

“I am under no illusions. If you were not with child, I doubt very much that you would be sitting opposite me.”

“And I doubt that you would have made a proposal.”

“You’d have been wrong about that, then,” his words tore through her again. No lie visible. “I just – I know that I hurt you but I clearly did not marry Elisif. I have done all that you have asked of me and yet I can see the distrust in your eyes. Why is this still an issue?”

“Because you thought about it,” she returned wishing she could just shove everything she felt into his mind rather than try to explain it, feeling her frustrations build. “You knew the marriage was on the table, that it was likely and you _still_ chased after me. You could have just left me alone.”

“No,” he returned easily. “I couldn’t. What part do you not understand? I love you. Have loved you for years.”

“ _No_. People who love each other don’t send the other away. Don’t plan to marry someone else. You wanted me. _Desired_ me,” she shook her head and they shouldn’t be doing this. It wasn’t helping anyone. Regardless the words flowed out of her, words that had formed in her brain those days that followed his admission about Elisif. “I could have been happy. I could have had a life but you wouldn’t let me!”

They needed to get this out, she realised, when Ulfric’s eyes darkened. When the calmness finally broke to release the man who had started a civil war for what he believed. “No one _forced_ you here. You could have stayed with your Companions – married yourself to that man – that Harbinger!”

“Leave him out of it.”

“Fine, I will choose from many of your other suitors. Ralof, perhaps?”

“At least they never would have hurt me like you did!”

“Damn it all, I have apologised for this. Will you forever throw it in my face?”

“You wanted me to be your whore again,” her voice dropped dangerously low. “Do you know how that felt? You promised me it would be different, that we would be equal but if I had not left, you would be wed to Elisif and I your mistress. You destroyed whatever trust I had in you or your honour. It would have been better for us both if I never trusted you, never let you in.”

Ulfric stood, anger lining his frame and she watched him as he vibrated. “You speak of trust. Of honour? You call me liar. _Me_? I am not the one who withheld their true name for all the years we have known each other!”

The blow was low and she felt tears prickle at his words, anger twisting to pain. “You know that I had my reasons, Ulfric.”  

“Yes, I understand why a whore would not wish to reveal her true name. Who would wish to bring shame upon their family like that? No, my true question is why reveal it at all? Why not stay hidden under _your_ lies?”

Tears flowed freely and her breath hitched as she in turn stood. He had only ever made her feel worthless once before. “Divines take you, husband,” she spat shoving the table out of her way as she stormed out of the room.

No one stopped her as she left the palace, no one dared get in her way when her eyes spoke of fire and death. The air cut through her and if not for the heat of her anger, she might have turned back. Instead, it carried her to her home and she fumbled with the door. There was no one behind her but she didn’t feel safe, not until she was inside her home, the door barred behind her. Calder was eating when she entered and with one look at her, turned his gaze away.

Whilst she had never told him the full truth, from what he had seen and heard she imagined he had quite the picture in his head.

“Mead?” he offered and she pinched her nose.

“I’d prefer a sword.”

“Can’t kill your husband. That’d be treason.”

She pursed her lips together and wiped at her face. She still felt raw, broken and frankly pissed off. Moving to the benches of the dining area, she sat and placed her hands over her stomach, let the warmth she felt calm her. 

When she was no longer a firework set to explode, she moved to a more comfortable chair and settled in with a book. She couldn’t stay there forever and she knew it but at the same time she didn’t want another argument and at that given moment she really wanted to introduce her fist to his nose.

Calder carried along with his business; sharpening swords, tidying up, and gently depositing tea in her hand and bringing a blanket to cover her legs. She smiled her thanks.

She was half-way through _A Minor Maze_ , when the knock landed on her door. Calder stood and went to the door, shouting through the wood, “Go away.”

“Divines help me, Calder,” a friendly voice called. “It’ll be both our heads if anything happens to her. Where is she?”

Rolling her eyes, she put the book down. “Let him in, Calder.”

A snowy Ralof entered shaking off the chill in the hallway as the door was shut before him. “A little warning next time?” he shot at her, running a hand through her hair. “Ulfric’s kicking up a storm in the palace and I’m _meant_ to be your guard. He almost skewered me when I went to breakfast.”

Guilt hit her that he might have suffered because of her. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ralof stepped closer and she didn’t like looking up at him but wanted to move even less. “You alright?”

“He called me a whore,” she stated simply and Ralof’s face shifted to rage and then struggled as he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. “Said I brought shame upon my family.”

“Hope you kicked him where it hurts,” he settled on, voice low. “Either way, he’s out annihilating the troops in the training yard and we’ve got a line forming in the palace.”

“Why?”

“Court,” he shrugged. “Last I checked there was a note to say that it would be cancelled this week. Either way, there’s people waiting for someone to either see them or dismiss them. Jorleif can’t get an answer from Ulfric or Galmar and since you’re their queen…”

With a swallow she stood, Calder brought her a thick coat without question and Ralof guided her back. It was exactly as he said. Ulfric nowhere in sight but plenty of people waiting all the same. She took slow, measured steps to her throne where it had been repositioned against Ulfric’s. Jorleif came to her side.

“Your orders, your majesty? I will send them away with a word from you.”

She considered the crowd. How desperate some looked. How tired. It took her back to the time in her youth when she truly had needed someone to listen but no one had. Steadying herself, she said to Jorleif, “I will see them but I do not know what is expected.”

“I can guide you through the processes, my queen.”

“Then who is first?”

A timid man with pale blond hair came forwards, bowed and explained his gaze. A border settlement between two neighbouring farms. It was easy enough to solve, asking to see the deeds and granting him the right to build a fence to separate the land and to call the guards if trouble arises. Not all were so easy.

People asked her about getting soldiers out to their settlements, about offering aid to affected villages, about taxes. Jorleif was invaluable with his superior knowledge and handled the questions she couldn’t without her needing to ask, seamlessly stepping in and out.

She was barely trained for this but with help guided those who came to see her as best she could. As the fifth person was dismissed, Jorleif smiled at her, clearly pleased. The session lasted for hours and she was dismissing the last when she felt the room shift, tensing.

Ulfric emerged, red-faced and drenched with sweat. He glanced at her, surprise taking his features and she nodded once before returning to Jorleif to ask the few questions she had formed over the course of events. Ulfric walked past and was gone for nearly an hour before he returned looking fresher.

He sat beside her and Jorleif recounted the morning fair. Ulfric demanded why they weren’t sent away and Joreleif turned to her.

It was almost accusatory but she let it roll off of her, “I decided to see them.”

He nodded once and then disappeared for the kitchen. When they had no more need of her she headed upstairs and spent an hour speaking with Wuunferth before heading to the kitchens for dinner. She had no desire to see more people. Or to act cordially. Sifnar didn’t expect it. He occupied her mind with tales of various cravings he had had to deal with over the past and she laughed, light and happy.

Ulfric was once more nowhere to be seen as she headed upstairs to read, sitting next to the fire with a new book, wishing she had finished her one from the morning. It wasn’t too noticeable but as she felt her eyes become heavy, she knew it was the pregnancy tiring her. Her best count put her anywhere between nineteen and twenty-three weeks gone.

Snuggling further into the chair she did not realise as she drifted, did not hear as the book slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor.

She woke when the world shifted around her, eyes blinking open to see heavy furs. She didn’t need to lift her eyes fully to know it was Ulfric, still tired she didn’t protest as she was placed gently upon the bed.

She expected and hoped that he would leave then but he didn’t, instead crouching down beside her, placing a kiss on her forehead as he murmured, “I apologise for what I said,” his hand came to rest upon her stomach. “It was uncalled for and unworthy of me.” 

It shouldn’t have been that simple but her mind urged for peace.

“I wanted my child to know his lineage,” she answered the question imbedded between insults from the morning. “And I wanted you to know too.”

A look crossed Ulfric’s face, one she had seen many times and now it was tinged with hurt as he sat back rather than lean forwards. She rubbed at her face. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

She sat forwards and he helped her, hand upon her back. She wanted to snap but at the same time she didn’t. The peace was nice. When she swung her legs over the bed he moved out of her way but not far. She thought about what to do and her stomach made the decision for her.

Her mind was occupied with thoughts of what options she might have that evening when a hand came to rest on her shoulder where she slipped her shoes back on. “I do not know what to call you,” he told her plainly and it caught her. In the past, when she had changed names she had changed people too. Coming here as Anwen had been the first time she had to get people to change it as well.

“That depends,” she told him plainly. “Who do you want me to be? Arla, Anwen, Dragonborn?”

“I want you to be you,” he told her taking her hand in his fingers.

“I haven’t been me in a very long time,” she mused and took his hand from her face, the metal of their rings clinked and her stomach twisted. “Verlenn,” she tasted it after so long unsure if it fit her. If any name truly fit her.

“Is a beautiful name,” he told her.

“You wouldn’t have liked her,” she glanced to the floor. “Nothing special. Just a regular farm girl.”

“You have never been ‘just a regular farm girl’.”

“How do you know?” she questioned and he shrugged.

“Just a hunch. One day, I want you to tell me everything. Every name, every life that you have led.”

Her gaze past through him as something pulled tightly on her chest. “If I were to tell anyone, it might be you.”

When she finally pulled back to herself she saw that he was waging his own war within his mind and stepped past him, heading for the door. “I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll be back later.”

There was no reply as she moved through the palace. It was quieter now, only people left those who lived within the walls. There was no one else in the throne room save one when she entered, moving to the table and collecting a plate of food.

Galmar moved closer to her, sitting down beside her and she cocked her head at him. Never had he voluntarily started a conversation with her in the past without some intent. She wondered what angle he was going for when he spoke, asked how she was fairing.

“Much better than when you saw me in Whiterun,” she told him taking a bite of bread.

“Aye,” he glanced over her. It wasn’t predatory like some men, just considering. She wasn’t sure what caused the change in demeanour. Maybe it was the baby, or perhaps the fact that she was actually married now. Either way it put her on edge. “You and Ulfric made up yet?” 

Her nose wrinkled and he chuckled, “When you’re fighting, the whole hold suffers. You know that right?”

“This is your way of getting me to kiss and make up? For the good of the populace?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you did something for the good of others,” Galmar told her dryly, eyes flicking to her stomach and back. “That’s why you’re here isn’t it? For the good of the child?”

The food stopped tasting good and she swallowed down what she had left with water, turning to him properly. She glowered, he shrugged. “You’re pissed at him. He’s lovesick enough to take it.”

“Galmar –“

“No judgement. It was a damn good offer for anyone. Would have been easier for him to disown the child than claim it.”

The thought alone had her hand drop to the bump. Galmar saw and sighed. “The pair of you are hopeless. You need to ask him the real reason why he isn’t married to someone else and get over your anger or you’ll both end up wishing you’d turned him down.”

Galmar stood and she stared. The advice was not exactly welcome. She knew why he said his piece. Ulfric was his friend first and had seen the backlash of whatever arguments they had had. A thought popped into her mind, an unanswered question from months ago. “Why did you tell me?”

Galmar stilled near the door. “About Elisif?” she nodded. “It was the right thing to do. Either you forgave him or you left. The longer he waited, the worse it would be.”

“How long did he ignore you?”

“Two weeks.”

It gave her a little more respect for the housecarl than she usually had and maybe she’d follow his advice but not that day.


	35. Chapter 35

 

They fell into a pattern of survival. One that wasn’t easy on either of them but stopped any real arguments. Unwritten rules regarding space and expectations. Intimacy between them going no further than the occasional kiss to her forehead or hand on her growing stomach. They did not speak of the past to avoid rehashing old arguments.

There was enough else to do to keep her mind busy. The coronation did follow two weeks after the wedding and was thankfully much less taxing on her. To those who had not known her before she returned to Verlenn. It was an easier adaptation than any other change had been. Verlenn was slowly given more duties unlike what she had been used to. For all she was a skilled fighter that did not make her a skilled general and for all she had run her own homes she had never run a palace let alone a country.

Ulfric made clear he had no expectations on her. Verlenn’s explanation as to why she would do no such thing was the closest that they had gotten to fighting since the day after the wedding. In fact, a month passed of veiled courtesy between them.

Some days, Verlenn wished for the arguments more than the muted conversations and stilted air between them. With only a handful of topics deemed safe enough to discuss, Verlenn was tired. Tired of being close but also so far apart. Galmar’s words grew upon her with each passing day.

“Nothing fits,” Verlenn broke the silence in the room as she stood before the dresser, considering her options with disappointment.

Ulfric shuffled the papers on his desk, glancing up at her. His lips were tight but his eyes soft. “A life grows within you, Verlenn. It’s entirely natural.”

“I know,” she huffed and pulled her loosest gown out, taking it over to the dress to lay it out. “I plan to go out to the markets today.”

“You do not need to. Jorleif can arrange for a tailor to come to the Palace.”

She cast him a dry look.

There was a moment when he opened his mouth and she thought he might argue with her on the point. Instead, he exhaled and nodded. “Take a guard.”

With that he returned to his work and Verlenn felt almost disappointed as she started to change. It did not take long to ready herself with no longer having to apply her war paint. Instead, she spent a few minutes braiding her hair into a bun before she headed downstairs.

Fear of an earful from Sifnar had her grab a sweet roll as she made to leave the palace. She did not get close to the door before a familiar shape sidled up beside her.

“Where are we going today?” Rolaf asked casually, inclining his head in respect when she turned to him.

“To collect Calder and then just the markets. I need new clothes.”

His eyes flickered to her stomach and back. “You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d settle down. And children?”

She chuckled. It was refreshing that Ralof – whilst showing respect – still treated her as before. Jorleif didn’t. She was fairly certain that the steward would fall over if she asked it of him where once he would turn his nose up to her. “Well it wasn’t really an option before I’d saved the world.”

“Ah yes. Our mighty saviour,” he made an exaggerated bow as they moved the streets. “Tell me, is there any hold you don’t hold titles?”

“The Pale,” she considered. “I never got on particularly well with Skald the Elder and although the College is within Winterhold, Korir strongly dislikes mages.”

“Well there’s certainly no one more qualified to be our Queen.”

She smiled down at the ground before they collected Calder and she headed to the market to consider the array of fabrics before her. It didn’t take long for stall holders to recognise her and bid for her attention. Verlenn had been used to drawing attention as dragonborn but it was certainly more intense now that she was also queen.

Eventually, those around her calmed enough for her to carefully consider fabrics and cuts. It took a good while before she eventually bought a few pieces and ordered more. She was preparing to return to the palace when she felt someone brush against her hand, feeling a slip of parchment slid within. Head whipping in the direction they had gone, she faltered at the sight of three near-identical black sets of hair.

“Everything okay?” Calder asked as Ralof sniffed some flowers just ahead of them.

“Fine,” she lied and made an early retreat from her shop, retiring to Hjerim and leaving Ralof at the door. Calder eyed her cautiously as she slipped off her cape and headed upstairs but didn’t follow.

The seal was clear enough, she knew who it was from without opening it, and pinched her forehead at the message. A time, date and place. Nothing else. Memorising it, she threw the paper into the fire and figured out just how she was supposed to manage that.

Calder was suspiciously when she came back down after ten minutes thinking up a plan. “What are you doing?”

“Going back,” she said plainly, picking up her cape. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Don’t think so,” he followed her to the door and it was entirely unsurprising. She had time. Almost wished that the meeting wasn’t the middle of the night.

She didn’t say a word as they returned to the palace and she frowned as Calder went to speak to Ralof, the latter straightening at whatever was said. That would complicate things she decided as she tried her best to go about the rest of her evening as normal.

Feigning tiredness, she went to bed earlier than usual, used that time to prepare a small pack – a few essentials, nothing more – and placed it out of sight. By the time Ulfric came to bed, she was asleep.

Only she wasn’t. She counted the time, careful not to move, careful to steady her breathing. When it was time, he was snoring softly in her ear as she gently extracted herself, glad he’d removed his arm from her in the night.

Once she was in the hallway she slipped on a robe, tying the dagger around her thigh and depositing her nightgown back in the bag. She knew the guard pattern well enough to avoid them, to stick the shadows. She was almost disappointed when she made it out of the palace without incidence.

As she headed onto the walls, hurrying through the staircase, she wondered idly what it was with him and heights as she stepped out into the night. He beat her there for once.

“Took your time,” he said with a smile and she slapped him on the arm.

“Two in the morning?” she hit him again. “Do you know how hard it is to get out at two in the morning?”

“Sorry princess,” his grin never wavered even as she narrowed her gaze.

“What the hell do you want Bryn? I’m already in a world of trouble if I get caught sneaking out.”

“Didn’t realise you were so caged.” It bristled but her response was to cross her arms. “Alright, I need a favour.”

“You always do.”

“Rune’s been captured,” Brynjolf’s voice dropped low, angered. “Your husband’s got him locked in tighter than Maven keeps her daughter. Three attempts to get him out have already failed. He’s up for the chopping block by the end of the week.”

“Talos help you, Bryn,” she hissed and paced. Rune was a good guy, a friend even. “That’s – how – dammit, Bryn!”

“You have access to the dungeons. Give us the key and we’ll take care of the rest.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’ll take down half my men. I’ll handle it.”

“Lass, you don’t –“

“Yes, I do,” she scrubbed her hands over her head. She wasn’t prepared for this. Mentally or otherwise. “Tell me what you know.”

And he did. With each progressive detail, she cursed once more. Bryn was right about him being kept tightly. It would be difficult to a skilled thief. Verlenn had a few tricks up her sleeve a regular thief didn’t though.

“Give me your toolkit,” she demanded, hand outstretched and he hesitated.

“Where’s yours?”

“Out of reach,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “Go meet me down by the exit, take him out through the docks and I swear to the gods if this happens again –“

“I know. I know.”

Passing over the toolkit, she took a moment to get familiar with it. She wished for her kit but she couldn’t be doing with sneaking around all over the palace. They separated at the bottom of the wall and she stuck to the shadows as she moved through the palace. It hurt to crouch, her legs protesting as much as her arms. If she was caught the worst thing that could happen to her would be having to face a pissed off Ulfric. For Rune, it would mean death.

The thought kept her going, kept her pushing.

Getting down to the dungeons wasn’t the difficult bit. 

When she saw the two sets off guards – one playing cards, the others watching the prisoner – she internally groaned. These were people she knew, had fought alongside. She sat for a few moments thinking on her plan of actions before letting loose the flame atronach in the opposite corner. The men scrambled, shouting and drawing shields. Her aim was to distract, not to kill.

Two remained by the cell door and if she had her usual gear it wouldn’t be a problem. As it was, she was very glad for the unique set of skills that she could bring to the job as she focused her magika, shooting out the alteration spell which paralysed those not fighting the flames.

She ran then, fumbling with the key, yanking the door open. Rune was ready, crouched into position, eyes widening as he saw her.

“Say a word and I leave you here,” she hissed signalling him to follow. They only got halfway up the stairs leading to freedom when shouts started. Running wasn’t something she wanted to do but she did it anyway. They were gaining and soon they’d be able to see.

Hissing a curse, she threw a blizzard behind them as she shoved him out of the door. Bryn was waiting, grabbing Rune and tugging him away.

“Owe you one!” he called but she just shook her head, throwing back his kit. Now she had to get back home.

Taking a large loop around the palace, the sight of five guards made her blanch. Not even she could explain what she was doing in the middle of the night dressed in robes.

Resigning herself to her fate, she bypassed it all and went to Hjerim. Calder was about ready to charge when she came up the stairs, stilling when he considered her.

“You did something.”

“Yes I did,” she agreed moving to her bedroom. 

“Should I bolt the door?”

“No,” she sighed. This time she was in the wrong and she knew it. Moving to her room, she collapsed upon her bed and let the extra hours of wakefulness catch up on her, trying not to think about what the morning was going to bring.

\-----

 

Having the sense to change into something more presentable still didn’t save her from the daggered eyes Ulfric shot her as she entered in the morning. It was a little past midday and she considered the men hauling burnt wood out of the palace with feigned confusion.

When she got close, Ulfric stood and walked towards her, taking her arm and squeezing it. “What did you do?”

“What?” she tried to pull out of his hold but it was firm. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t even pretend,” he hissed and encouraged her up the stairs. When they made it through the door she spotted the bag she had hidden on the bed. Turning back to Ulfric, he was livid. “I don’t know what you are thinking, Verlenn.”

She dropped all pretence. “He was a friend and he was going to be executed.”

It did nothing to curb his anger. “He was a criminal and deserved his fate!”

“What did he do? Steal something? Change some numbers in a book? Hardly worthy of death, Ulfric.”

“It sets an example. We don’t tolerate the Thieves’ Guild in Windhelm. That message gets thoroughly fucked when the bloody queen sneaks through the night to release him!”

“If it were Galmar, you’d have done the same.”

“My housecarl is no _thief_.”

His fists were clenched into tight balls. “They don’t have to know it was me.”

“No,” he agreed. “They won’t but I need a promise from you, Verlenn. A promise that you won’t do anything like that again. That you won’t put our child in danger again.”

Her hands fell protectively to her bump. “There was no danger.”

“And if they caught you? Had they run you through before realising who you were? Shot an arrow into your heart or stomach?” he stepped closer to her. “It was foolish.”

“Ulfric,” she sighed and pressed her forehead into his chest. He was right and it wound her up but he was right. “I swear to you I won’t try something so rash without at least consulting you.”

It wasn’t quite what he’d asked for but his hands came to her arms, pulling her flat against his chest and holding her. She didn’t have the right to protest his concern so she let him, let herself be held.

“I swear, if you tell me you are Guild Master,” he rumbled into her hair and she chuckled.

“I turned that one down.”

“Talos preserve me, she has some sense.”

She thumped him lightly on the chest and he released her stepping backwards. He was still angry and annoyed but part of her was glad to see it. She did not want to be constantly arguing with him but knowing the chasm between them, such displays reminded her that he did care still. She didn’t realise how much she needed to be reassured of that until she felt the press of his arms protectively around her once more.

“Did you never think to ask me to release him?”

She lifted her brow. “Would you?”

“Probably not,” he shrugged at her glare. “But we could have discussed it.”

A thought made her smile and his expression shifted. “What?”

“You – for all your outbursts – are always the one who wishes to discuss things.”

“And you are the one who always runs away,” he told her plainly. “My first thought upon finding you gone was that you had. It was almost a relief to realise what you’d done.”

“You aren’t the easiest man to be around,” she defended moving to sit upon the bed. “And running away has kept me alive more than once.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “Another time,” she said it as a promise. His hand came around her body, holding her to him.

“We can’t keep living like this,” he murmured into her hair and she squeezed his leg. “I want my wife to love me, not despise me.”

“Can’t it be a bit of both?” she hedged and his chest rumbled as his lips found her forehead.

“Maybe. If it _is_ both,” he sighed and stood. “I need to sort this mess out. Sending out a man hunt I know will turn up no results,” he shook his head. “Then we need to talk. Until then, figure out what it is you need to know to let me in – or if you can’t.” 

“You’re being entirely too reasonable.”

“Perhaps,” he turned to the door but she heard the smile in his voice. “Galmar may have rubbed off on me.”

And then he was gone and she was alone with her thoughts and this time had no choice but to address them.


	36. Chapter 36

 

It was well into the evening when everything had settled as much as it could be. For once, Verlenn kept out of the way of things. Although it hadn’t been her intention there had been injuries to those Stormcloaks who had merely been doing their duty. Thankfully, the guilt from that was not added to by any comments from Ulfric. Whilst he dealt with the manhunt and ruling for the day she spent time healing those who had were suffering burns or frost bite and thinking heavily on what Ulfric had said.

Verlenn retired early in the evening, waiting for the discussion far too long in coming. There was such conflict in her heart between what she wanted, what she needed and the residual pain and anger that clouded everything else.

Ulfric eventually came into the room with a tray laden with food. She cleared the small table as he approached, setting it down and sitting opposite her. She picked a few things and ate them despire her lack of hunger. It wasn’t just about her anymore after all.

The space between them was quiet but not entirely companionable. She waited for him to finish eating, hand resting upon her stomach as she watched him stare into the goblet of wine he held before finally finishing it and placing it down.

“Whenever I look at you, I can’t help feeling angry,” she told him plainly and he nodded.

“I know. How can I change that?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed and leant forwards on the table. “I hurt you. I didn’t want to.”

“You knew about Elisif. Why weren’t you honest?”

“Ironically, I didn’t want to lose you. It took the best part of a year to get you to stand in the same room as me. I hadn’t wanted to tell you unless it was necessary. Galmar thought it was.”

“Good thing he did. When else would you have told me? After you were betrothed?”

He dropped his head and the answer made her stomach twist and her face sneered in disgust. “This is why I can’t trust you.”

“I made a mistake, Talos knows I’ve made enough.”

“What else do you count in your mistakes, Ulfric? Am I to be found on this list? Or perhaps our child?” 

“Divines help me,” he murmured under his breath before holding her eyes, forcing her to see the intensity and truthfulness in his statement. “There will never be a time in my life where I regret knowing you, loving you or fathering a child with you.”

Verlenn felt her heart stumble and her stomach twist with butterflies. “I need the truth. Not twisted truths either.”

He inclined his head towards her. “I have not lied to you this eve and will not.”  

Thinking back to Galmar’s words she took several deep breaths. “Why aren’t you wed to Elisif?”

“If my advisors had their way I would be but I refused,” he said plainly. “It would have made things easier but not better. Making things easier is what got us into the mess with the Dominion and the Empire. I wasn’t about to make those mistakes again.” 

“And that was the only reason?” 

Ulfric studied her and shook his head.

She let the frustration go as she unclenched her fists from the chair arms and lowered them to her stomach, closing her eyes. Ulfric stayed quiet opposite her. “If I weren’t – if we hadn’t –“ she shook her head, he knew what she meant. “Would you have gone through with it?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. “You weighed heavily on my mind. If there was any chance you might come back, I wanted to be able to have you.”

“If I had chosen not to come back, would you have truly let me go?”

He exhaled deeply and sat back in his chair. “I would have tried. As best as I was able.”

“Why?”

“I hurt you, more than once. You deserve to be happy and if you couldn’t find that with me, I wanted you to have that option.”

“So if I’d have married another, if we’d have raised your child as ours,” his fists clenched and lips thinned. “You would have been okay?”

“No,” he told her, word cutting. “I would never have been fine. I am incapable of being okay without you. I will say it a thousand times, I love you. If I have hurt you too many times for you to love me back, then that will be my punishment. To have you close enough to touch, to kiss, to hold but not be able to. I love you, Verlenn, Anwen, Arla – I love you whatever your name and always have.”

She hadn’t fully braced herself for such an admission and her heart pounded. The sharp kick against her hand caused her to yelp in pain and he was by her side in a moment. “What is it? Are you okay?”

She huffed out a breath, nodding. She grabbed his hand and moved it beneath hers. His eyes were on her face, confused, expectant. “Say that again.”

His brow furrowed. “I love you.”

She let it wash through her, let her heart race and was greeted by the most pleasant experience. The child kicked them both this time, through Ulfric’s hand she felt it and he laughed, free and open. 

“A strong son,” he murmured leaning forwards to kiss the bump.

“Or daughter.”

“Yes, or daughter,” he agreed and she lifted her hand, thread it through his hair.

 She exhaled heavily. It was tempting. So tempting to just accept it all, let him in, fall again. He would catch her, hold her but for how long? What would be the next blow that would steal her breath and leave her bleeding?

Ulfric sensed the change, moved forwards, hand caressing her cheek. They were on a precipice. She could trust him or she couldn’t.

She placed her hand over his, their fingers interlocked and he closed his eyes, waiting for whatever judgement she lay down on him. “You say you love me but you don’t know everything, Ulfric. You don’t know who I’ve been and what I’ve done to survive.”

“I know more than most,” he reminded, squeezing their hands. “And no matter what you say you won’t ever push me away.”

“Verlenn, Hilde, Arla, Danya, Ysolde, Urla, and Anwen.”

“Tell me about them. Tell me about you.”

So she did. She laid herself bare. Let him in like no other. She told him about her life as a girl as Verlenn, of her parent’s deaths and her desperation. How she was forced to move on and then to steal to stay alive. How she was caught trying to steal cabbages and gave her name as Hilde. How she had been given coin for the only thing that she had of value, how she travelled through a few taverns before another girl taught her some tricks. She reinvented herself as Arla, went to Windhelm, and honed her talents. Danya was the first alias with the Imperials, Ysolde and Urla the second and third.

Her head hurt form opening so many boxes, breaking down so many walls. Her heart burned from memories of the ways she had suffered. Her eyes were raw from unending tears. Her stomach was tight, fluttering against their hands.

“Why Anwen?” he asked brushing back the hair from her face. Not his first question.

“It was my aunt’s name. I couldn’t think of anything else and I didn’t want to die with no links to my family.”

It was late. Very late. If there were windows in their room the sky would be pitch black. Ulfric remained on the floor before her, one hand on her stomach, one on her face.

“I want to trust you,” she murmured. It was true. When she decided to come here, she had hoped, somewhere in the back of her mind that they would find a way. It was shadowed deeply by mistrust and anger but it was there. A flame, diminished, but still burning.

“If you need time, take it. I did a lot to break your trust in me.”

She let her head fall to his felt the uncertainty that hadn’t really gone away last time they tried this either. It wasn’t a simple thing to let go.

When her arms came around him, he cradled her back, holding onto her tightly a thousand unsaid things between them still. Perhaps it was a start.

“It’s late, we should sleep,” she told him and they pulled back together, Ulfric offering her a hand and she stretched, groaning at the ache in her back.

They both had their own routines at night and fell into them now; she washed, untied and retied, changed before finally climbing into bed. He always beat her there if they started together. “Come here,” he murmured when she sat, shuffling her between his spread legs, encouraging her to bend forwards as his fingers worked at the tense lines of her back.

It felt like heaven and she let out soft moans as he worked. “From what I’ve heard, the back ache gets worse.”

She huffed. “Don’t start with the horror stories. I have had enough. Last week Viola was telling tales of women confined to their beds for weeks or babes that don’t turn properly and –“

He soothed her, fingers pushing into her hair. It entirely undid the bun she had just placed it in but she found it hard to care when the action sent little jolts down her spine. “You’re strong don’t let your thought’s dwell on the misfortune of others.”

“That’s all well and good, Ulfric, but you’re not the one carrying a Nord giant. My body is only so big.”

He chuckled and the noise warmed her to the core. It was so simple. So domestic. She teased her lip between her teeth unsure she should be allowing it. Anger would only get her so far, Galmar was right about that. It didn’t mean she forgave him but maybe things didn’t need to be so bad, words could be soft and actions too.

“Thank you,” she murmured as his hands began to slow as she felt sleep calling to her.

He kissed her shoulder and moved back, let her settle down on her side of her bed. Maybe it was too much, maybe it was false hope, but she did not turn her back to him and face the wall. Instead she waited for him to settle and lay with her head upon his chest. His arm wrapped around her.

“I’ll try, Ulfric. I can’t promise more than that.”

A low exhale escaped him and he squeezed her once against him. “That’s more than I had hoped. Sleep well.”

Heart pounding for no reason she could pinpoint, she closed her eyes as he blew out the candle by the bed. It was easy at night, with just the two of them, to let her pain slip away and be replaced by something she wasn’t entirely sure she deserved.


	37. Chapter 37

Trying was no easy thing.

Some days, it felt entirely natural to lean on him during dinner, to rest her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. To let him unfasten her dress and massage her back. To pull his hand to hers and place it over her stomach when the babe kicked, regardless of those around them.

Other times it was harder. When the palace played host to important visitors who asked how they met. When she thought about the Companions that she hadn’t seen or the last time she had been allowed to go somewhere unchaperoned. When she felt like a caged bird sat upon a pedastol to be gawked at by those around her.

It was never true. Ulfric cared for her input as much as he did for Galmar’s but that did not stop the beginnings of mutterings as she grew in size and her deeds as dragonborn slowly slipped from their minds. No one would say such to her face. She tried to build herself up against comments. Comments that she had known to expect. Yes, she was dragonborn and married to the High King but for some, those who knew enough and listened to the rumours in the background of a girl who looked very similar to her, it was a claim that they might have bedded the queen.

To protect herself from such talk meant closing off in a time when she was supposed to be opening up. Those walls around her heart felt strong and safe but so did the feeling of Ulfric’s fingers gently carading through her hair or his warmth pressed against her back at night or the way her heart fluttered when he looked at her with open interest and love. It felt like each day that passed, each moment where he remained by her side a single brick was loosened.

It terrified her but it would be a lie to deny that there was not a part of her which desired the day she felt coming when she could no longer block it out.

The day was crisp when she headed downstairs, wrapped in a thick cloak. It was comfortable and a beautiful gift from Galmar. A surprise and perhaps a truce between them. There had been only a few patches of argument since the wedding and most regarding troop movements. The snide comments which had once driven her out of the Palace had ceased as had his stern stares.

“What have we today, Jorleif?” Verlenn asked as she made her way to the throne. Ulfric was elsewhere but she paid that little mind.

“We received word today, my queen, that Jarl Elisif of Solitude comes to Windhelm.”

Verlenn paused before she sat, raising a brow to the steward. “Really?”

“It is most surprising. King Ulfric has the missive so I could not tell you more. He is in the training yard.”

With a smile, Verlenn changed direction and quickly found her way to where Ulfric was swinging his axe at a dummy with no small amount of anger. Anger that instantly put her on edge as she shooed the gathered crowd of soldiers away with a look.

Well aware of her fragility, she stayed out of arms reach but did step closer. Close enough for her words to carry over the exertion and his heavy breathing. There were so few times that she had seen him like this; power and fury. Before her stood a true warrior. A man who had the power to back up his words. The sight was more than a little warming to her own blood.

“Your left leg is unbalanced,” she called as way of greeting and he grunted but slightly changed his stance. Still drawing back for another swing. “Jorleif informed me we are to have guests.”

“I have little enough desire for Imperial sympathisers in these walls.”

His swings were slowing, not in exhaustion, but in deference for her conversation. “What is it that the Jarl of Solitude wants?”

“To petition against my decision to move the capital back to Windhelm,” wood chipped to the left and right, “For my men to withdraw from Solitude,” the sound of metal whistling through the air, “And most likely to start another war. I trust her little.”

“All that in a single missive?” Verlenn hedged. “Jarl Elisif must have very small writing, indeed.”

With one final growl, he cleaved the dummy clean in two before turning to her. The edges of madness in his eyes were calming but his chest was heaving and brow covered in perspiration. She took a step towards him once the axe was safely stored, leaning up to mop at his forehead with her sleeve.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. “I will not give her the means to incite rebellion.”

“You are the King,” she reminded letting their finger entangle and fall to the side. “Your word is law. Remind her that.”

“I will not make her a martyr to her cause.”

“She retains her seat because you will it.”

He inclined his head to the side and huffed a breath. Verlenn studied his unease and pursed her lips. “This is about more than that visit. You won’t have real trouble keeping Elisif in line.”

“No,” he agreed. “It may take many hours of arguing, however.”

“You’ve never shied away from a battle. Be it verbal or physical.”

“In truth,” he glanced past her even as he tucked stray curls behind her ear. “It is not Elisif’s mood that I am concerned with.”

Verlenn pursed her lips.

“Walk with me,” he murmured and she easily fell into step beside him as he guided her to the edge of their training yard. It was colder but she could see more of the city and he had plenty of warmth for the both of them.

She was silent as he moved to stand behind her, as he shifted his hands to her stomach. Enjoying the sensation, she leant her head back to his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice deep and certain. “And there has never been a part of me that has wanted Elisif. She is a whining girl who barely knows how to run a household let alone a hold. I have never wanted that. A good wife is not the one who does as she is told but the one who is strong and does what she believes in.”

Verlenn enjoyed the sentiment letting butterflies swim through her stomach a few minutes before chuckling. “Is this what all this is about? You think seeing Elisif will bring some horrible memories back?”

She turned expecting to see embarrassment or his amusement but not the severity in his eyes and the tight line of his jaw. “There has been no bigger mistake in my life then letting you go.”

Sliding a hand up his chest, she murmured, “You are my husband, Ulfric. I swore it first before Talos and then again before all of Skyrim. We would do best not to live in our mistakes and I am going nowhere now.”

His hand moved to her cheek, caressing the skin there before he merged their lips. It was chaste, like that of the wedding but it sparked inside of her chest. Rather than back away as he might after a peck to her forehead or cheek, he stayed close and she with her arms around his neck, keeping them together.

The babe moved, kicking her and Ulfric by extension. The older man chuckled and rubbed his hand against the spot, letting out a contented sigh as he did. “I never expected this,” he admitted. “Not a wife or a child. Not when all my life has been fighting and death.”

“We won,” she reminded. “Perhaps we deserve a reward.”

“There is no sweeter reward than this.”

It was so easy to slide her fingers into his hair that she did it. It was so easy to lean forwards and brush their lips together that she did that too. For once, she ignored caution, the small thing that it had become and let herself feel.

His lips were soft and warm despite the cold. His body wrapping against her protectively as he reciprocated. Her heart began to pound when his fingers slide into the back of her hair and clenched, a gasp escaping her that turned into a moan when his tongue slid against hers.

The sounds of footsteps had her pull back, feeling herself blush violently, even more so at the smirk on Galmar’s face when she turned to see where the intrusion had come from.

“What is it, old bear?” Ulfric’s words were cordial but his tone was not.

“Just another missive. The envoy has made good time. The Jarl will arrive before the day is out.”

Verlenn watched the annoyance deepen in Ulfric’s spine as he nodded. “Have Jorleif ensure guest rooms are prepared. Tell Sifnar to prepare a feast.”

“Aye, will do,” Galmar turned to Verlenn. “Wuunferth wishes to speak to you about the College.”

“When did you turn into a messenger?” she pondered and he rolled his eyes. With a glance back to Ulfric, she inclined her head and departed. She felt a twisted sort of enjoyment at the agony in his face when she walked away. It had certainly been a long few months for everyone.

\------

It was night when they arrived; the main doors opening as a cascade of retainers, personal guards, housecarls and finally, Elisif, entered the Palace. Ulfric and Verlenn remained in their seats as they approached. There were plenty of familiar faces that she could have tried to place in that time but instead she chose to consider Elisif’s. she considered the Palace with no small amount of disdain.

It was not hard to imagine why. The Blue Palace was certainly more modern in appearance; lighter, more flowers and grand staircases. The Palace of Kings was a building of simplicity not opulence. Verlenn felt there was more to Elisif’s dislike that simple issues with the décor.

Ulfric was the first to speak when they stopped a few paces away from the thrones. “Lady Elisif,” Ulfric greeted and the young woman’s gaze immediately stilted, shutting off as she met his eyes. “May I introduce you to my wife, since you were unable to attend the wedding.”

Elisif turned to her, nodding her head slightly, eyes widening at the clear bump. “Dragonborn, I had not realised you were with so heavy with child.”

“A few more weeks yet, my lady.”

Elisif nodded, a slight tight smile, “I wish health to you and your child,” turning back to Ulfric, the smile quickly disappeared. “We have matters to discuss.”

“Aye,” he casually reached for Verlenn’s hand and squeezed it. “There’s no point in trying to get it done in one day. Rooms have been made available for you and your people. Rest if you will. Food is available. We will speak on the morning.”

The Jarl of Solitude look set to protest but bowed her head in deference. At the sight, Verlenn imagined what it would have been like had they married. There was clearly no friendship between them and Elisif’s disdain ran deeper than her own. How would one lie in bed with the man who killed her husband? What sort of lives would they have led together? What would have become of her?

Jorleif stood forwards and began gesturing, taking some upstairs and showing the foot soldiers to the barracks. Verlenn sat backwards in her throne and exhaled.

“Could you not simply tell her 'no' now and save us all the headache?”

“She has to at least think that she has had her say,” Ulfric sounded as frustrated as she felt at the prospect of spending the next few days arguing.

“I think I may go ask Talos for guidance.”

Ulfric chuckled and stood as she did, stilling her by collecting her hand. She leant into the touch of his hand on her face and made no protest when he kissed her. It was a sensation too long denied she felt as she responded to his movements, leaning into him and not away.

His eyes were alight when he pulled backwards. “Do not take too long.”

Verlenn felt unsteady as she stepped away and towards the door, casting her eyes backwards as she did. Her heart skipped a beat for the desire in his eyes and his words took on a new meaning as she headed to the Temple of Talos with Ralof.

\------

 

There were rules guiding how one should pray, how one should sit, how prayer should start and end and a lot of what should be found in the middle. There were special concessions for the pregnant queen, however, being allowed to kneel on cushions not the cold stone and left alone with the shrine as the priests and priestesses milled around.

Ralof stood somewhere near the door and she had finished her prayer long ago and was now simply thinking. At first her thoughts were stuck on what had happened with Ulfric. It had been months and he had made no move outside of what she had let him. He had been more patient than she had ever thought him capable. Would it be so terrible to let him back in again? There would certainly be benefits to doing such. If she closed her eyes she could feel his fingers against her body; the heat of him inside of her, the feel of his breath against her –

She found herself flushing in the cold, smiling to herself at the childishness of it all. He was her husband now. There was nothing wrong with such things. No one could ever deny that she had every right to love him, be loved by him, or carry his children. It was a thought that once she never would have dreamed of. How easily could it have ended differently?

How would it have been different if she had stayed after Ulfric told her of his plans to wed Elisif? Would he have gone through with the marriage? Would she have stayed as his mistress? How would Elisif react to her carrying her husband’s child?

What would it have been like for them to have been married?

Her thoughts were disturbed a while later with a subtle cough behind her. She turned, not expecting to see the woman who had been occupying a good portion of her thoughts.

“Jarl Elisif,” she greeted and Elisif smiled, a little tightly.

“My queen,” she offered a hand and Verlenn accepted moving over to the slightly more comfortable pew after. She looked to the back to see Ralof staring down Bolgeir Bearclaw.

“What brings you here, Jarl Elisif?” she was not speaking about the meeting with Ulfric. That she knew already. Elisif sought more resources to rebuild her city and that the number of Stormcloak guards be reduced, amongst other things. “I had not thought you devout.”

“Nor had I you,” Elisif returned, glancing to the statue of Talos behind them. “I wished to speak actually. There has been no time since the war ended and I had questions.”

“Oh?”

“You could have swung the war either way. A different decision and we would be in Solitude now, not Windhelm. You were a Thane to Solitude once. Someone I considered good. I wanted to ask why did you choose to help them, alas,” her gaze dropped to Verlenn’s stomach. “I feel that I know.”

A hand instinctually dropped to her stomach, caressing the bump, content at the little kick beneath her hand. “My decision stemmed from more than my relationship with Ulfric. You trust the Thalmor but they are brutal. Ulfric at least cares for the people of Skyrim. To the Empire, to the Dominion, we’re just another number. Another territory.”

“And you think Ulfric any better? He murdered my husband. Shouted him to pieces!”

“And he let _you_ keep your life. If this was reversed and you had knocked down the gates to Windhelm, would you have done the same?”

“That would have been General Tullius’ decision.” 

Verlenn gave her a beseeching look at the Jarl’s shoulders dropped. “Fine. No. He would be dead.”

The thought twisted unhappily in her heart. “Nothing good happens in war but can come from it.”

“How very diplomatic of you,” Elisif crossed her arms as she considered her. “I do have you to thank for one thing. If you hadn’t married the brute it might be me carrying his child now instead.”

Verlenn hummed. “Would you have agreed to such an arrangement?”

“I would have had no choice,” Elisif sighed. “When Ulfric stopped with that line of inquiry I was relieved beyond measure. Although,” the woman glanced from side to side and lowered her tone. “I have to ask, is this a choice of yours, dragonborn? I saw your indifference in Whiterun.”

“I am exactly where I want to be.”

“I wish I could say the same. It is no easy thing to lose your husband and for all our differences in opinion, I hope you never have to know such pain.”

She swallowed and nodded surprised in the generosity of such a statement.

“I have taken enough of your time. Thank you for talking with me. I doubt Ulfric would be pleased to see us doing so.”

Verlenn’s gaze flickered to the shrine, contemplating how Elisif was considering it. “Do you wish to walk with me?”

“No,” Elisif smiled. “Thank you, I think I’ll stay here for a moment.”

Rising to stand, she made it to the door where Ralof waited, nodding to the man as they head out into the evening. It was snowing.

\-----

When Verlenn re-entered the Palace, there was a large gathering of people around the table. Jorleif was amongst them chatting away but she noticed key parties were absent and used those thoughts to carry herself upstairs.

Ulfric was changing when she entered. He did not pause in removing his shirt and Verlenn let her eyes run over the scars that lined his skin. She knew them all intimately. He turned his gaze to her and stilled under it, waiting for her decision.

Eventually, she broke her gaze with a smile and began removing her cloak.

“Like what you see?” he inquired when she lay the cloak over the back of the chair.

She flickered back to him, let her smile run free as she teased her lower lip in her teeth. “You can tell a lot of a man from his body.”

“Oh?” he stepped closer to her but left a gap. She breached it, carefully letting her hands first hover, then touch his chest.

“Strong muscles, so you’re a fighter,” she explained as her fingers moved over the ridges of muscle. “Scars that speak of experience and victory,” she lightly touched his upper arms. “These arms could forge things. Metal, maybe, but perhaps something bigger. An army,” he caught her hand as she reached his forearm and she interlocked their fingers. “Your hands are rough but your touch is gentle.”

“So,” he let her hand go and moved his fingers to her chin, tipped it up so their eyes met. “ _Do_ you like what you see?”

“Aye,” she agreed easily, nonchalantly. “I think there might be more to it than that.”

“Oh?” he bent forwards so that their lips were close.

She let her hands wrap around his neck. “I love you.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than he was merging their lips as if chasing after them, wanting to swallow them himself. She gasped but gave into him immediately. His fingers were gentle as they went to the fastenings of her dress

Her heart fluttered but not with nervousness. She had told him everything. The good and the bad. He was still there. Still wanted her. She had run away again and he had kept trying. He would wait for her and she felt the shift. The last of the wall come crumbling down between them  

“Ulfric,” she whimpered as he broke the kiss, lips chasing patterns down her neck, biting at the tender flesh there. Her body responsive to his every touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he promised straightening and lifting her. She yelped her surprise as her legs swung over his arm, laughing as she clutched at his neck and he carried her.

The laughter died when their eyes met and she saw the hunger within. He wanted her and she wanted him. He placed her down gently, carefully, actions at ends with hers as she pulled and shoved at his clothing.

It took extra work to work around the bump and limited mobility but it stopped neither of them as they pulled at clothes, letting their bodies replace the warmth they were losing. It wasn’t comfortable to stay on her back for long and Ulfric knew it, turning her to the side, sliding behind. She felt his hardness behind her and pushed back onto it, his hand on her hip squeezing as his lips claimed her neck, hand working between her legs.

There was no feeling like it and after so long her body responded with gusto. When his finger entered her she clamped down on it, bit her tongue and groaned.

He guided her thigh over his leg and then she felt him, brushing up against her. “Please,” she gasped, one hand grasping at his hair, the other into the pillow as he slid into her. The angle was perfect, a slow rock of his hips building the crescendo that had already begun with the meeting of lips.

His grunting added fuel to her fire, his possessive hand on her hip cementing it. She burned where they touched and it was so good, too good.

“ _Verlenn_ ,” he groaned into her ear and it was unexpected and so powerful that she came, hard and fast rocking her hips into his. The roar of the world took minutes to die down, only vaguely aware of his increased pace, the stuttering of her name called as he bucked into her a final time, flooding her with a new warmth.

Her heart pounded and her body thrummed. His hand came around her body, resting on the top of her stomach as he made no effort to move out. “ _Ulfric_ ,” she returned, craning her neck to look at his eyes. He kissed her firmly, hungrily.

“I love you,” he said to her lips and she felt the sensation within her as well.

“And I love you.”

The twitch of him still inside her made her chuckle, lock her fingers over his.

“I have waited a long time to hear those words,” he murmured against her.

“I love you. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

He made a noise in his throat and kissed whatever parts of her his lips could reach. “I won’t ever let you go again.”

\-----

 

The baby came two weeks later. In the middle of the night, her screams waking those who hadn’t risen already in the panic the Palace descended into. The birth was agonising and exhausting but entirely worth it for the shrill cry that filled the room after.

She cried, wept tears and tears as she held her son and Ulfric held her though it all, never wavered and never left. Recovering was hard, nursing and waking to feed the infant harder still. She refused a wet-nurse and Ulfric didn’t push even when he was awoken as often as she.

It wasn’t until things calmed, that the babe would sleep for more than half an hour at a time and she had managed more than six in a day that she started to think, did the math in her head.

Ulfric was holding his son, sitting at the end of the bed, soothing away the tears once he had been fed when she spoke. “He was conceived in those first few weeks. Probably after Falkreath,” she told Ulfric, considering the sight with a heart full of joy. He was so delicate with the infant, so cautious.

“Oh?”

“Roughly. It’s not a perfect guess but it would be about right.”

He hummed slowly moving to the basket, placing their son down in it before returning to her, capturing her in his arms. “And I liked the idea of him being a product of our first reunion.”

She snorted and shook her head. “I remembered my potion after that one at least. If not for you sending me to every forsaken part of the country, I might have continued to remember them.”

“I’m glad that you didn’t.”

“As am I,” she placed her head into his chest. “But next time, I will decide when I am ready.”

“Next time?” he chuckled.

“Maybe,” she smiled at him. For all the lives that she had led, all the mistakes that she had made, Verlenn knew that despite the pain it had been worth it to simply get to here.

 

The End


End file.
